


To love, to hold, to fuck things up

by drcalvin



Series: Our effing epic love story [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Comedy, Epic Fail, First Time, M/M, Romance, Seduction, Sibling Incest, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-12
Updated: 2010-12-12
Packaged: 2017-10-13 15:40:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/138920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drcalvin/pseuds/drcalvin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The epic tale of how Italy and Prussia team up to get something they've both desired for a long time: Germany.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Partners in...

**Author's Note:**

> A comedy of errors, originally written for the APH kink meme. Here in expanded and proof-read version.
> 
> Beta by strawberryburst @ LJ. All remaining errors are my fault.

In the end, Italy thought, it always came back to that disastrous Valentine's Day dinner. The beginning and immediate end of his and Germany's romance.

He hadn't understood what Germany wanted back then. He wasn't sure _Germany_ fully understood what he'd wanted either. These days, he refused to touch upon the subject, hiding behind work or chores if Italy ever dared to bring it up.

Though in all fairness, things hadn't gone too well after that date either...

Shortly before Italy turned down his proposal, Germany's boss had decided it would be a great idea to turn on Russia. Germany, being who he was, ignored any personal concerns and obeyed.

Everything escalated, as wars had a horrible habit to do. The knotty problem grew into a strangling noose around the Axis, until even Italy realized what a mess they were in. In the the end, the German nations stood alone against the entire world, too far gone to realise what they had let themselves become.

Looking back, Italy couldn't be sad that they had lost. Those years had cost them all, though, and among his personal losses he counted the severe fracture in Germany's hard-won trust.

Always, he'd been quick to pick up the white flag and go with the flow. So, once the boss told him that they were switching sides, he smiled and nodded. They were losing, ve, why hang around? Romano went ecstatic at the mere idea. Which, all things considered, ought to have made Italy more suspicious.

Certainly, he'd wanted to say goodbye to Germany, but he accepted that the timing might be sensitive. Still he sneaked a wire up north, promising Germany that they'd always be friends, and giving him permission to eat the pasta Italy had left at his house. No use in wasting good food, right?

From Italy's perspective, it was obvious that he didn't mean the whole side-switching _personally_. Therefore, nothing prepared him for Germany's reaction, his hurt and anger. Nor the harsh revenge he'd taken on Italy's lands and his children.

He hadn't exactly doubted Germany's friendship, but those days had scared and confused him, badly! Why, Italy had fought almost every one of his friends! France, Austria, even his own brother... Frequently, he'd been the beaten one too. What did a few wars matter between friends?

That's what they did, after all. Fought, betrayed, reconciled. Following the wishes of their bosses, the wills of their people. Nations learned to forgive – or at least to lick their wounded hearts in silence.

These arguments mattered not one iota to the furious Germany and only served to drive home how very young his friend was, as nations counted the years. The bitter-sweet realization of just how few times Germany's heart must have been broken by politics and strife, was countered by the despair Italy felt at thinking that they had lost their friendship forever.

In the end, out of all nations, it had been Prussia who pushed them towards reconciliation. A drunken argument between the brothers (which, or so the rumour went, included a table applied to Germany's head) finally convinced the younger nation to at least hear the other side of the tale. Austria, who had overheard, seemed oddly proud when he told Italy of Prussia's words: "If we all held on to personal grudges over international politics, we might as well skip world war three and go directly to the 'everyone fucking dies'-part!"

Things didn't go back to normal just for that, of course, but Germany finally agreed to communicate by something other than official dispatches.

One day, over two decades later, the wounds at last seemed to have fully healed. They'd been at an United Nations meeting and for once, Italy had wanted to contribute with something more serious than a request for lunch. Nobody had listened, as usual.

Not until Germany's stern voice broke through the din, bringing a moment's silence to the room. For the first time since Italy had sent that wire, their eyes met for longer than a moment and then Germany nodded, all very proper and formal.

Of course, seconds later America yelled back and the entire meeting descended into chaos. But the very next day, Italy knocked on Germany's door. On his arm hung a basket full of fresh pasta, his best wine and a brand-new football.

Now, well into the new millennium, they were close friends again. The only thing that spoiled his complete happiness was that he'd quite like something _more_ than friendship, actually.

For so long, Italy's heart fluttered faster if the other nation's gaze lingered and his cheeks took on a hint of red. But every time, Germany's brow furrowed and his voice became stiff and distant. Still, hope refused to die, as years turned to decades and Germany continued to sneak glances, fidget, and deny it all.

Italy valiantly ignored the denial, as he ignored the hurt that filled him if someone joked about them being together. Without fail, Germany scoffed at the suggestion with what looked like true revulsion.

The comments that least amused Germany on that topic were usually his brother's. Shortly after Prussia moved back home, he'd happened to surprise Italy in the kitchen one morning. Italy had come over to make a surprise breakfast, to celebrate the reunited family.

Italy felt someone looming behind him – not Germany, because he recognized that loom perfectly – and the sensation startled him rather badly. Unfortunately, the bowl of polenta he was holding turned out to be the slippery kind.

To his credit, Prussia tried to save the polenta. Unfortunately, the reason Prussia was up at such an early hour was that he hadn't actually gone to bed yet. And, since the reason he hadn't gone to bed yet was that he had been sampling the beers of former West Germany (all of them), his co-ordination wasn't _quite_ there. So when Italy shrieked, Prussia flailed and the polenta ended up all over the floor.

Both Italy and Prussia knew exactly how Germany would react to such a scene in his pristine kitchen and so were more than a little frazzled, when that grumpy and still tousle-haired nation stomped in to ask what the racket was all about.

Perhaps as a means of distraction, Prussia began talking loudly about what an adorable couple sweet Italy and his little brother made together. And by the way, he continued, oblivious to Italy's panicked gestures, would West mind terribly if Prussia pinched Italy's butt now and then? Brothers ought to share, after all, and the only butt he'd had to pinch lately was Russia's. Which wasn't near as awesome as either of the butts in this fine kitchen, hah!

Once Germany recovered from the shock of hearing Prussia discuss butts and the pinching thereof before breakfast, he practically threw him out of the house. Then Germany too made scarce, mumbling something about an emergency at the office. In fact, he barely took the time to throw on a suit before he drove off towards the sanctity of his paperwork and even _left the mess behind!_ It was enough to make an Italian despair that he'd ever have a chance.

Although, considering Prussia... He was the one who had known Germany longest. Perhaps, Italy thought with dawning hope, perhaps he might convince Prussia that after hesitating for over fifty years, Italy was finally ready to confess his love for Germany. And he'd quite like some help to make sure the other nation stood still long enough to hear this confession, ve!

Couldn't hurt to try, right? If nothing else, Hungary would protect him if Prussia decided he needed to guard his brother's virtue.

* * *

While watching Prussia lounge on his old couch, Italy realized that he had forgotten one important fact. Sometime during the last hundred-something years, Prussia probably forgot how to spell virtue.

"Soooo," Prussia drawled after he'd listen to Italy's rambling confession. "So, basically, you want to fuck West?"

"Ve? I, er, that's not really..."

Italy lived by the motto that the way to a nation's heart was through the stomach. As such, he had outdone himself in the kitchen and then invited Prussia over.

Since even Italy, once sufficiently motivated, could be sneaky, he'd bribed France to book a dinner-meeting with Germany and their respective bosses a few days ago and then feigned great sorrow that his other friend couldn't come.

Prussia, however, never turned down free food. Happily throwing himself over the delicacies, he'd spent most of the meal praising the cooking, the lovely house, Italy's cuteness and, naturally, his own overall greatness. As the evening proceeded pleasantly, Italy found he needed less liquid courage than he'd anticipated. A good thing that, since Prussia had happily downed about half the alcohol available by the time they reached the entrée.

"I'm in love," Italy managed to say, voice barely shaking. He'd waited past the dessert and coffee, until he couldn't put things off any longer. Now, he would not allow himself to back down, he wouldn't!

"Yeah, got it, you want the whole romantic schmoop too," Prussia sneered. "Pfah. Both you and West, always making such a big issue of everything. I say, if you wanna fuck, just do it." He punctuated his statement with a very _expressive_ gesture.

Italy wasn't the most easily embarrassed nation in the world, but there was something about Prussia, sometimes... Perhaps because the other nation wasn't only aware of his own vulgarity, but because he took such obvious pleasure in acting as bad as possible.

Italy swallowed and reminded himself that faint hearts did not win fair... Germans.

"I do want to. I do- Have sex with Germany," he whispered. "I just... I want something more, too."

Prussia chuckled, a raspy little sound which made Italy squirm uncomfortably. He usually didn't mind being dismissed, but this time he really was serious!

Perhaps Prussia realized this. Or the alcohol put him in a merciful mood. Either way, he soon fell silent, staring up at the roof with an odd twist to his lips. It was a rare stillness, far removed from usual cocksure bravado Italy knew. Nervously waiting for whatever would come, he began to feel the first butterflies of hope tickling him inside.

"Hn. At least you're honest. I mean, it's not-" Prussia's grin showed more teeth, although it rather brought to mind a great angry dog than an actual smile. "Not that bad of an idea, ya know? Hell, maybe West would get ridda that stick up his ass if you stuck something else there instead."

When he glanced back over at Italy, some odd trick of the light made his eyes look like fresh wounds, in the moment just before the blood welled over and escaped. It was unnerving. The too sharp grin plastered on his face didn't help and Italy found himself scooting backwards. Not subtly enough, apparently, because suddenly Prussia's hand shot out, stopping just before his fright-wide eyes.

For a moment, they both waited, unmoving, before Prussia snapped his fingers once, making Italy jump with fright. At that, he sank back onto the couch, crowing with triumphant laughter.

"Oh, kiddo, you're so... Only you, Italy!!"

He laughed again, louder. He often did that, Prussia. Laughing, crowing and cackling. Only a few years ago did it dawn on Italy that this may not always mean that his best friend's brother was _happy_.

Once, Germany had left him alone to go with Italy to a concert. He didn't even acknowledge Prussia's cheerful "have fun and do everything I would! Kessehehehe! " but something made Italy turn around for a moment. The cracked grin he'd glanced made him wonder, silently, if that loud cackle mightn't mean the very opposite of joy.

"Go ahead!" Prussia's voice in the present broke into Italy's thoughts. "But you gotta do it on your own, cause I'm the least likely guy in the world West would listen to about emotions and shit. If he even possesses any, hmpf. Ask that sissy Austrian, why don't you?"

Here, at least, Italy was on firm ground. "Absolutely not!"

It may have taken an embarrassing amount of time, but finally, Italy figured out who had given Germany all that awful advice on how to approach a potential lover. Who knew it was a blessing in disguise that Austria never actually needed to woo his bride, but was presented with the marriage more or less fait accompli by his boss?

"That's my man!" This time, Prussia's smirk was completely honest. "The fop's always been too convinced of his own superiority anyway!"

"But Prussia, you're his big brother!" Italy wheedled. "He listens- I mean, you know him, don't you?"  
He moved closer to Prussia to employ his famed puppy-eyes, feared all over the Mediterranean and in many parts of Germany.

"Don't you think Germany and I would be happy together?" he said, allowing a tremble into his voice.

Taking the other nation's hand in his own, Italy looked up at him with the most adorably pathetic look on his face, ignoring the slight panic which crept over Prussia at the possibility of soppy, emotional discussions in the near future.

"Happy? What's that gotta do with the price of beer?"

Italy let his lower lip wobble slightly, knowing Prussia's not-so-hidden weakness for cute and helpless things.  
"Vee~ If someone asked me, how to make my brother fall in love with him so they could move to a nice farm and grow tomatoes for the rest of their lives, I'd help them! Especially if I thought he was nice and could dance and cook really well!"

Only he still hadn't asked for any advice yet and Italy was beginning to despair that he ever would. Spain's passivity in the area had actually been one of the things which spurred him into taking this step. _He_ certainly didn't want to spend another hundred years pining!

"Wait, what?" Prussia glared down at Italy with a great deal of suspicion. "Where do tomatoes figure into all this?"

Uh-oh. "Nowhere!" If Prussia connected those dots, Romano would be very upset with him.

"And have you ever seen West dance? Practically a crime against humanity!" Prussia continued, somewhat laying Italy's worries to rest.

"Never mind that, Prussia," he said, waving his hands to dismiss the irrelevant, if fascinating, mental image of Germany dancing.  
"But... I do love Germany. Like, really love him! As much as my art or my pasta." He frowned. "Although, I don't want to make love to my pasta. Hardly ever. I mean, what I want to say is that it's different with Germany, but it's just as deep as all the other things I love in my life!"

A large, calloused hand suddenly descended to stroke his hair.  
"Italy," his voice was uncharacteristically soft, "if you want my brother, go for him. You're an adorable little guy. And, sure, he ought to let someone in." Prussia's hand tightened painfully in Italy's hair. "Only, don't ask me for advice in this matter. 'Cuz I... I'm really not the man to give it. Especially not about West."

Slowly, Italy was released, though Prussia let his hand rest there. For once, he felt no need to babble excessively, choosing instead to listen for a little while longer.

"I can't help you."

The odd-coloured eyes stared through the ceiling and into some part of Prussia's - and, he realized with a small pang, probably Germany's - past that he had no access to.

"Probably everyone in the entire bloody world can help you more than I can," he said. "Hah, this is something even France or Specs would manage better! Kesehehe-" The laughter cut off, as if Prussia had suddenly choked on something. He sprang to his feet, face aglow with something more turbulent than just intoxication.

"Man, fuck this crap, Italy! Got any more booze round here?" Then he stomped off towards the kitchen without even a look at the nation kneeling by the couch.

Several images from the past swirled in Italy's head then, fitting together like when a handful of unassuming herbs and pungent spices melded to create a delicious dish.

He remembered...  
Italy and Germany, celebrating Christmas together. Just the two of them this year, with only a slightly protesting Romano safely ensconced at Spain's.

Germany pulling Italy's ass from the fire, saving him again and again. First aid-kit always near, even the hand-made white flag hidden at the bottom of his bag. And after the usual scolding, a fond smile to spare every time.

Prussia, bursting into the room, burbling happily and proudly showing off his most recent souvenir from some odd corner of the world. So glad that another nation had time over to spend with him.

When he looked a little deeper, this dish seemed a lot less savoury than the usual fare in Italy's house.

Who had Prussia been with? They'd left him in an empty home when heading out for the Christmas market.

When Germany returned from the eastern front, he was usually more disappointed than concerned. Why couldn't his big brother manage something this simple, he complained. The Soviet was under-equipped and weak, couldn't he try a little harder?  
Prussia laugh stayed full of arrogance and he went back and fought and fought, fighting until he fell apart. Italy kept running, hiding – and Germany scolded them both.

He remembered how Germany rolled his eyes, stuffed the new acquisition deep inside a storage room with a frustrated sigh. What seemed such a treasure when Prussia first showed it to them, that Italy was almost tempted to get one of his own, now lay there, so much rubbish-to-be.  
Prussia's grin twisted a bit more, perhaps he punched Germany's shoulder a little harder than was proper, before he left to read his diaries again.

And Italy? Stood smiling obliviously beside them both.

Unusually deep in thought, he followed the other nation towards the kitchen. There he found Prussia having just found the very last liquor in the house. In his baggy hoodie and torn jeans he looked out of place, his pale colouring clashing with the warmth of terracotta tiles and fresh green basil plants. The strain of his back broke the harmony of room, the polished pots and chipped jars no longer part of a comfortable jumble, but a mess without coherence. While everything else radiated familiarity, Prussia was foreign, almost threatening, where he stood knocking back Amaretto as if it were water.

Without really knowing where he found the courage, Italy slipped close and carefully wrapped his arms around Prussia's middle. The other nation stiffened in his arms, stopping with the bottle just touching his lips.

"I'm sorry," Italy said.

"Wha- what're you talking about?" Somehow, Prussia tilted the drink a smidgeon too much and some liquor escaped, staining his sweater.

"Ah, y'mean this shite booze? Certainly deserves plenty of excuses, it does." Prussia quickly gulped down more of the almond liquor, though he made no move to escape the soft embrace.

Italy pressed his face against the back that was almost as broad as Germany's but nevertheless seemed so much less solid. The smell of alcohol and nervous sweat filled his nose, but Italy couldn't shake the thought that beneath it all, a hint of iron still lingered. Weapons and steel and blood; once Prussia's constant companions, until the weight of them forced his name off the map.

"I think, perhaps," Italy began, "that Germany isn't the only one who proposed and was turned down. Maybe Prussia thinks Germany has special reasons not to listen to him in matters of love?"

A heartbeat. Two.

"What the fuck are you talking about, you cowardly little asswipe?" Prussia shoved him away with impressive force.

Italy cried out as his back made painful contact with the kitchen bench. He had no time to gather himself before he was lifted up, until Prussia's liquor-laced breath was on his face, hot and erratic.

"Are you saying that I tried to molest my little brother, huh? If- If you even think for a moment!"  
He was shaking him, sharp teeth so close that Italy almost feared that they would tear into him, a furious wolf defending his honour.

"Noo!" Italy wailed. This wasn't how it was supposed to go _at all_. "Help! Ahh, Prussia, put me down!"

He was dropped immediately.

"Fuck this, 'm going home."

At least, that brought him his wits back and Italy was spurred into action. Once, he'd allowed one of the Germans to leave, his voice full of hurt and back stiff with pride masking pain, and he was still trying to fix that! Not again. Not when he could picture a gently smiling Germany reaching for his hand, that rare softness in him as they went together into the future.

No. Italy had decided now. He wouldn't mess up again.

They went down in a rather painful tangle when Italy slammed into Prussia's legs. Some of Germany's diligent training must have stuck, because he managed to move out of the way just before an elbow tried to slam into his face.  
Though he didn't aim more punches after that, Prussia kept twisting, trying to shake Italy off his back while the slighter nation clung to him like a particularly stubborn barnacle.

"Listen," Italy yelled, "ve, please, Prussia, listen to me!"

"Lemme go!"

Feeling his fingers slip, Italy tried desperately to find the right words. "I know I'm stupid, but please! I'm lazy and stupid and slow. But Germany, he is even worse sometimes! Well, not lazy, and not really slow he just doesn't realize..." No, he told himself, bad Italy. Focus!

"Germany cares a lot," he continued, "he's just really, really bad at showing that. And I think," oh dear, he'd better be right or he'd be beaten black and blue, "that even if he's very different, Prussia is a little bit the same. But you both care. I care!"

"Goddammit! All the world knows you care about Germany," Prussia muttered, his struggle subsiding as he twisted his head around to glower at Italy.

"...I think I can learn to care a lot about Prussia too."

Prussia finally stilled and when he made to get up this time, Italy let go. They just sat on the floor for a few moments, then, both nations weary from the weight of their thoughts.

"Well?" Prussia finally said. "Talk." The face he revealed when he turned towards him was empty, the façade of an old warrior marred only by the tiny pearls of sweat breaking free.

The lack of animation reminded Italy of the carnivals of old; every face so white and still. Surrounded by glorious colours, the empty masks kept dancing while pestilence rotted the city from within. Laugh, drink and stab each other in the back, because who knows what tomorrow may bring; so lived the Venetians of old, and perhaps a touch of their credo had survived until this day.

"I just mean... I love Germany!" It became easier to say each time and he had to say it once more, luxuriating in the feeling. "I love him, I truly do! I love him all the way, because he's kind to me! And strong and, and yes, really sexy!" Italy grinned, not caring if he looked quite the fool.

"That's what you feel for Germany, eh?"

"Yes! And I want to..." Here, his new-found courage almost abandoned him, but even Italians could fight, once they had the proper motivation.  
"If you want to. I could..." Italy finally dared to say the words, bring them out in the open. "Maybe learn to love you too. If you want me?"

"What about Germany? He..." The empty look twisted into a grin, but Italy now knew what he had once only suspected. Loud anger or false cheer, both expressions were the same; only masks.

"After he took over, I actually asked," Prussia said, his smile widening with every word, though his eyes were still empty. "Asked if he wanted to change things. We're not like you and the little pissed off guy." His fist tightened and Italy almost reached out to touch him, but didn't quite break the moment. "Two parts, but not... Equals. Don't quite fit."

"I know."

"We could be, I thought. It would've been natural. But, heh," Prussia shrugged, "someone like me is meant to stand alone. Splendid in solitary glory," he finished with a mocking laugh.

"Nobody is meant to be alone," Italy disagreed. "But Germany... Ve, Germany can be _really_ stubborn."

"Hn, tell me 'bout it. Could give lessons to an ass."

"Yes. And Italy," he squirmed a little, but plunged on, "I can be really blind. That was what I was saying sorry for."

Prussia scratched his neck, fidgeted and stalled. "Not blinder than any of the others," he finally admitted, his voice finally breaking, the strain too heavy even for one so proud of his inner steel. "They still haven't..."

"I _want_ Germany," Italy repeated. "And I think you want Germany too. Don't you?"

Looking at Prussia, he realized that without a word spoken, the other was answering. His hands, that moved nervously around where a sword had been missing for a century, the tears he quickly blinked away and the smirk that wouldn't quite stick. They all spoke so loudly, that Italy marvelled that the entire world didn't already know.

Perhaps Italy should have felt much more afraid than he did when he tugged at Prussia's sleeve and burrowed up against his side. For Prussia had made loneliness his only true companion and now, Italy threatened to take away even that trusted friend. But for all the shadowy years hidden in the man next to him, Italy was still among the oldest of them. More than that; he was a nation of love.

"You do," he said, gently. " _We_ want him." A pause, a heartbeat, and then Italy took the last step. "We should take him."

"We...?" He was old, Prussia, but when real happiness bloomed in him, he looked quite the mischievous child. A quick bark of laughter escaped him, choked down before it turned into a sob.

They sat in silence for another while, before Prussia finally responded to his touch. His hand, stroking Italy's cheek, was gentle for all the roughness that he liked to project.  
"Perhaps," he said, "there's more of your grandpa in you then we admit, little Italy."

With that, Prussia shook his head and stood, pulling Italy along. "Come on; we need to get more booze if we're going to do this. Lots and lots more. I'll even pay for some of it."

"Ve!" Italy agreed, feeling relief bubble through him. They'd do it! They really would!

"Fuck yeah!" Prussia crooned, kicking open the front door. "We gotta toast! Yeah, toast for the awesome Prussia and the cute Italy, partners in crime!"

"Noo, Prussia!" Italy protested, unable to hold back his giggle any longer. "We're partners _in love_!"

"Oh, for crying out loud..."


	2. Wooing Germany

Some discussion and a few edible bribes later, Italy convinced his partner-in-wooing that they ought to lie low for a while before their next attempt. Germany was beginning to become annoyed with the unusual amount of attention he was receiving and even Prussia had to admit the wisdom in that; it was harder to hunt spooked prey.

Now, two long months after their disastrous plan F, Italy was ready to try again. They hadn't been idle during the wait either. In fact, Italy considered the practice dates he had taken Prussia on a great success.   
Although, he had to admit, he finally understood why his less than enthusiastic approach to Germany's military training had caused the poor man such ulcers. To educate Prussia in anything resembling courtly love soon required immense amounts of patience.

At least now Prussia could go through the motions of a normal dinner date, though his favourite topics still weren't fit for polite conversation. Entertaining as they could be, on occasion...   
Like that time Austria personally escorted them from the lovely Viennese restaurant, after Prussia decided to demonstrate the fine art of impalement to Italy. Perhaps using his cutlery and an asparagus stolen from a nearby table hadn't been the most romantic gesture, but it _did_ make Italy almost fall of his chair with laughter, and making your partner happy was good, wasn't it? And they didn't have to pay for the dinner either, not once they promised to take their dates to another country from now on.

And then, yesterday, Germany invited Italy over for an after-work beer and they set the plan in motion.

With a cheery voice, Italy informed his friend that he was already booked for the evening. A horse exhibit at Spain's, and of course Romano would also be there.

"But... I thought Prussia was also going to some horse event?" Germany finally asked, after an unusual amount of silence from the phone.

"Yes!" Italy positively trilled, forcing himself to sound as enthusiastic as possible. "Prussia is a very good rider. He was really interested when I told him!"

"I see... You have been doing several things together lately, haven't you?"

"Ve, Prussia is so fun to be with!" Italy prattled on about how much he looked forward to petting the horsies, then went on to describing how his brother said that dinner at Spain's was always great fun, with lots of music and dancing after the food, and Romano had even promised he'd help them order all the tastiest Spanish specialities, wasn't that nice? when Germany's temper snapped.

"Fine!" he spat, "I understand. You're all going to have a wonderful time! You can stop talking about it now!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Germany," Italy said, feeling his hand grow sweaty around the phone. "Since you are always working so much, I thought I could at least tell you about all the fun things we're doing!"

"I- Italy..."

"But if you don't want to hear more, that's okay." He drew a deep breath. For a good cause, Italy, he reminded himself and tried to exert frantic cheer through every pore in his body. "Uhm, Prussia and I have to get ready now. So, ciao!"

"You don't think I could- I mean, if it's no trouble..."

Ahhh! The pathetic loneliness in that voice was more than Italy could handle. Just when he was at his breaking point, the phone was plucked from his fingers. Grinning ruthlessly, Prussia finished the conversation for him.

"Don't worry, West, I'll take care of our little Italy. No need to stay up and wait for my awesome presence to return, kehehehe!" With that, Prussia pressed the end call button and nodded towards Italy. "Great work, man. You really sounded as if you didn't give a damn."

Cue a torrent of guilty tears. "Germanyyyyy!"

"Hey, this was your idea!" Prussia said, tugging uncomfortably at his necklace before daring to give the weeping nation a manly pat on the back. "No chickening out at the last minute now."

Seeing as how Italy just kept on wailing, he decided to make his escape to the kitchen. And keep the phone with him; just in case.   
"Man up, Italy," he muttered and tried to ignore how odd it had felt to hear Germany's betrayed gasp just before the phone clicked off. "We're going over to him this weekend, right?"

Italy sniffled. "Ve, ve... Yes. I just hope Germany doesn't feel too alone until then!"

"Pft. He's just gotta get used to it, like the rest of us."

"But I don't want Germany to be alone, I want him to be with me and give me lots of kisses and fooooood. Waah, sorry, Germany, sorry!"

Prussia rolled his eyes and went to hunt up something alcoholic. Preferably without almonds, but, hey...

"I'm sorry! I love you, Germanyyyy!" Italy cried to the empty phone-holder.

...beggars couldn't be choosers. And unconsciousness seemed more tempting every second.

* * *

While Prussia lived with Germany these days, he also kept a tiny spare apartment for the sake of their mutual sanity. Like all places Prussia inhabited, it had soon filled up with mementoes and knick-knacks, these mostly from his time with the red family.

When Italy came over for the first time, there was a lot of shuffling of empty beer cans and half-full ashtrays until he'd uncovered a place to sit. He then tried to find an empty area to put the sausage stew – not the table, which wobbled too much for unwary guests - until Italy suggested they just hold the bowls in their hands.

Laying back on the bed, Prussia entertained him with the tale of how West almost fainted the first time he'd visited here.

"Then the next day, at _six o'clock in the bloody morning_ he was back," he finished, "with a whole damn truck full of building stuff – paint, pipes, you name it! He'd even brought roof tiles! To my apartment!"

"Ve," Italy laughed, "but it's nice that Germany wants to take care of us, isn't it? Even if he likes to go up too early."

They both shuddered at the memory of various times Germany had deemed appropriate for tasks such as cleaning or, in Italy's case, drills.

"C'me on, man, we both know this place is a dump. No amount of paint will change that, despite what the crazy wessie thinks..."

"Um, but, it doesn't really look as if he's changed much here."

"Hah, no, I didn't even allow him to carry in his damn off-white wall paint. That wallpaper is retro, dammit! Not that I come here to look at it, or to clean." He scraped at the geometrically-patterned brown wallpaper, flicking away the little piece that came loose beneath his nail.   
"This is where I go when West drives me insane. Or, well, I him... Last thing I need is staring at his sterile idea of interior design. 's nice, drop by and listen to the traffic outside, chill a little. Also, dead useful if you're too drunk to get home at night."

"I think I know what you mean," Italy agreed. "Germany likes his peace and order, doesn't he? I like to go walking in the mountains or listen to the birdies singing, but I would miss my people if my house was as far out of Venice as his is. From Berlin, I meant, not Venice."

"Mhm... West can deal with people, it's not that," Prussia countered. "He's never minded living in the barracks. But if he wants to relax, he's got to have things his way. I mean, hell, who doesn't? The difference is that I don't give a shit what the place I sleep looks like. Long as it doesn't rain on me."

"But Germany didn't complain, when you didn't want to change things like he did?"

"Nah. If he doesn't have to see it, he doesn't mind if I wallow in my ‘mess,'" he said, making finger quotes around the last words. "Who cares. If I want to watch something, I can just look out and see all the people!" Rising to pour them both more wine, Prussia leant close and patted Italy on the knee.   
"There's a scent to people, you know, Italy. Get any large group of humans together and you can practically taste their hunger for fame, fortune and _power_. It makes me even drunker than beer. God's truth! Anyway, never mind that, not why you're here!"

He rubbed his hands and flashed Italy a wild grin. To further the plan Prussia had stayed in his apartment for almost two weeks and he was getting antsy to go back home. Not that he missed West or anything, course not, but someone had to do his laundry, right?

"You sure we shouldn't suit up or something come Friday? West tends to nag about clothes too."

"No, I think it would make Germany more suspicious," Italy said, putting aside his scraped-clean plate. He wondered if there would be any chance of dessert. He feared that it may, if that was the case, include wurst.   
"We often eat together on Friday's, it's better if we pretend nothing is going on," he continued, while wondering if the prospect really was that unappetizing. And not even Prussia would put potatoes in his dessert, right...?

"Ah, right, hide in plain view. Sound military stra- Sorry, sorry..."

Italy frowned at him, which always had Prussia biting his lip to stop himself from pinching his cheek or something. The little guy was just so _cute_!

"Does Prussia remember the list of forbidden topics?"

"Yes, yes... No calling West a besserwessie or anal retentive-freak. No whining about the how the budget never has place for awesome monuments these days, no telling him about my cool new glow-in-the-dark computer parts – they're still safe at your place, right?"

"Ve," Italy confirmed. He'd put them under Romano's bed and sincerely hoped his brother wouldn't have reason to inquire what they were and why they were there. "And the most important topics not to talk about?"

"Er... Right, no talking wars, battles, revolutions, troops, insurgencies or political assassinations. Except if West brings it up. Or if it has anything to do with Old Fritz. No, don't look at me like that! I talk about the old man all the time, West would really get suspicious if I didn't when it's appropriate!"

"I still don't understand how those things can come up that often in the, um, flow of conversation," Italy admitted, while eyeing Prussia's minuscule kitchen. There seemed to be a freezer in there, so he might be able to scrounge up some gelato...

"It's a German thing, trust me. 'sides, not even my awesomeness understand how your brother fits tomatoes into every other sentence he says."

"Sometimes Romano is a bit... focused," Italy admitted. "By the way, you don't happen to have any pasta around? I could whip up a bit – why are you laughing, Prussia?"

* * *

Friday evening rolled around and he was bumming around before the telly, waiting for Italy to come pick him up. He wasn't the least bit nervous. Not at all, he regularly mixed up his shaving gel and toothpaste. A nice, minty smell was probably just what it would take to get his neat-freak of a brother to agree to some fun, anyway.

Why should he be nervous, anyway? Italy's plan was great! Germany was probably missing them both like hell by now. He'd sure miss his awesome presence if he was bereft of it for more than a few hours, never mind days!

So what if there had been no more calls from Germany? With a little help from Estonia, Prussia knew that his mail conversations lately had been totally boring. Germany appeared to be going through the backlog of tasks so dull, that even his famous discipline faltered before them.

Perhaps it wasn't exactly as Italy thought he would behave, but so what? Sure, they'd hoped that Germany would try and get in touch with them when he realized how lonely he felt without their presence. Failing that, some bar hopping to drown his sorrows was expected.

That he stayed at home doing busy-work, it couldn't mean he didn't care at all, right? Nor that he was being utterly stupid and feeling too depressed for anything, of course not. Because his little brother had some serious issues with depression and Prussia wouldn't stand around and imagine the worst when there really was nothing to worry about, so there.

Although in retrospect, perhaps he should have shared his forays into hacking with Italy. He'd suspected that the invasion of privacy might not count as proper courting behaviour, with the result that he couldn't even talk about this non-nervousness causing behaviour of Germany's.

Crap. So much easier to just invade someone. Here's my army, there's your army, the winner decides who tops, 'kay?

"We'll go see Germany, Germany, lalalaa~ He's so handsome and nice!" Italy's song carried through the open window and Prussia found himself flying down the stairs without ever consciously moving.

Soon they were walking - or rather, Prussia walked and Italy skipped - towards Germany's house and Italy continued his weird little song.   
"I'll go to Germany and we'll eat pasta and wurst all day long, tralillaa~ Pasta in bed is a beeeeuuuutiful thing, but not as beautiful as Germany!"

They wouldn't be able to do this with West, Prussia thought with a wry grin, when some of the other evening strollers gave them queer looks. He didn't mind people staring, he always assumed they just wished they could be him. But poor West? He'd squirm and fret, be terribly uncomfortable until he made Italy 'behave'. Poor bastard, he wouldn't know what hit him...

In no time at all, they arrived. To Italy's bafflement and Prussia's growing unease, they found the door locked.   
"Ve? Isn't Germany at home?"

"Dunno. Hmpf, my bloody key's stuck! Italy, try yours!"

It took them an embarrassing amount of time to realize that the keys weren't working. Not because the lock had rusted shut or anything, but because some bloody idiot had changed the locks! And once Prussia's spare key to the kitchen door also stuck, the culprit was rather obvious.

Staring at the silent house and imagining what Germany must have felt to change his locks – he'd never done that before, ever! - Italy began to cry. If he had been full of hope before, he was now convinced that Germany hated him for all times.

Prussia, on the other hand, became absolutely _furious_.

"WEST!" he bellowed, hammering the door so that it rattled in its hinges. "Open this bloody door at once!"

The dogs barked inside, but no one answered, much less opened.

"I'm sorry, Germany!" Italy wailed and joined Prussia in beating at the closed door. "Please open! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, we can explain!"

"That's it," Prussia growled when it became apparent that no one was going to open, no matter how much they begged or threatened. "I'm doing this my way! We're going in _now_ , whether he likes it or not, the passive-aggressive asswipe! Fuck you think you're doing, West, locking me out of my own house!" The last was yelled over his shoulder as he went down the few steps to the drive-way to gather his ammunition.

Italy stuck by the door and tried to cry some sense into the muscle-brained freak through the keyhole.

Useless, Prussia knew, because if there was one thing the idiot was, it was painfully stubborn. One of the few traits they shared, in fact, along with volatile tempers.

And it seemed that West urgently needed a reminder about what happened if you crossed Prussia!

A few years ago, West convinced him that they should redo the garden. Somehow this resulted in him, the mighty Prussia, having to lay down a shit-ton of bricks to make a wall for the new flower beds. Quite soon, he grew bored with the work. He was a warrior, right, not some damn handyman! But who said laziness didn't have its own rewards?

Now if he remembered correctly, _this_ was where he'd started to seriously skimp on the mortar.

"Hah, there we go!" Prussia cackled, once the first stone came loose in his hand.

"Waahh, German- Ve? Prussia? What are you doing? Ve! VE!"

The first window broke with a very satisfying crash and tinkle of glass splitter . The dogs raised a frantic howl inside. While a part of Prussia worried that West wouldn't get them away from the broken glass fast enough, he was first and foremost a nation with a mission.

"Knock-fucking-knock! You bastard!" he yelled and let another brick fly. Crash-tinkle-thunk went the next window.

The third brick was already being swung in Prussia's hand when Germany slammed open the door and practically fell out of the house. His face was red, his eyes looked about to pop out and his hair had sprung free of the usual severe style.

Frankly, Prussia thought that 'aggravated beyond coherency' was a look that fitted West perfectly. Always made him want to keep riling the little shit until he just lost it, threw Prussia down and fucked him through the floor. Alas, West usually stuck to yelling.

"What the hell are you _doing_ , you lunatic!" Germany howled, almost as loud as his dogs. "You- no! Stop!"

Prussia let the third brick fly. Since he'd brought it here, why waste perfectly good ammo? West deserved it too, leaving him standing outside their home, as if he was some has-been fool who only had somewhere to live on his brother's sufferance.

"Up yours, West!" he yelled back. "Trying to get rid of us, eh?"

At first, Italy cowered at the appearance of a furious Germany, but finally he seemed to gather what courage he possessed. With a cry that sounded suspiciously like pasta, he launched himself at Germany and proceeded to bawl all over the other nation's shirt.

While Germany was distracted with trying to pry the blubbering Italian off, Prussia sauntered over to the agitated doggies crowding around his brother and shooed them to their pen. He wasn't sure what was about to go down, but it wasn't likely to be meant for innocent eyes.

"You gonna let us inside, West, or do I have to knock louder?" Prussia asked as he returned, leaning lazily against the handrail and sporting the fakest innocent grin he could muster.

Germany threw him a furious glare. Since he was still trying to convince Italy that he didn't hate him for all eternity, not to mention the smaller nation was clinging to him frantically, he was unable to do much more.

"Fine," Germany ground out between clenched teeth, "let's take this inside. You two have a lot of explaining to do! Look at what you did to my house!"

"I thought it was _our_ house nowadays?" Prussia asked in a low, dangerous tone.

Germany just stared at him for a moment, face hard and unrelenting.   
"Really? Well, I thought you didn't want it any longer. After all," he began walking towards the house, dragging Italy with him, "you're usually so good at taking what you want from others, with no regards for what they want!"

His arms tightened around Italy, but the angry frown didn't lighten for a moment.

"Oh, West." Prussia rolled his eyes. "You really don't get it, do you?"

By now, the two nations had made it into the house and Prussia followed slowly. For once, he was feeling every one of his years.  
"When it comes to you, I've always tried to give."

* * *

Germany slammed down three large mugs on the kitchen table and then followed up with a steaming pot of hot cocoa. When he was finished, he sat down at the far end of the table and, very pointedly, glared. But only at Italy. Since they came inside, Germany had acted as if the nation currently slouched against the door-frame didn't exist.

"Are you okay?" Germany asked.

Italy sniffled a little and nodded. "Yes, Germany... Are you sure you don't hate us?" His entire being radiated pathetic adorableness, even the cute curly hair drooping.

"You _know_ I don't hate you, Italy."

Prussia winced, unseen by the other two. His little brother could really be a passive-aggressive shit of the greatest magnitude when he felt like it.

"Look," Prussia said, "it's your own fault for rushing to false conclusions and not, oh I dunno, ask us." An important point, in his opinion. Unfortunately, one that Germany ignored every time he tried to raise it, although he supposed the drink might be a peace offering. Or old habits.

"...I don't know what you're going on about," Germany finally said, without taking his eyes off Italy. Inside Prussia's mind, his troops played a victory salute. Of course, he'd always known West couldn't stay angry at his amazing self for long!

"Oh, come on! You're jealous because you thought me and Veneziano had shacked up together!"

Germany harrumphed. "I'm sure Italy would have better taste than that, even if he did prefer men."

"Excuse me? Even if he-" Now, Prussia stalked over to the table and glared down at Italy. "I think you left out a thing or two when you told me about that little date back in the forties, eh Italy?"

Italy tried to hide behind his cocoa mug.

"Mumblemumble what?" Prussia said and pried the cup from his fingers, ignoring Germany's admonishments that he stop bullying Italy at once. "Speak up, man!"

Italy looked down at his lap and then glanced over at Germany. "I said," he began, "that I usually prefer pretty girls. But... Perhaps not every time? Ve?"

Germany was far too large and intimidating a nation to squeak, but otherwise, the sound that escaped him at hearing that would definitely have been classified as a grade-A-squeak.

"You, you what? Does that mean," Germany looked up at Prussia and then back at Italy, "you two really have? To- together?" There was something suspiciously teary-eyed about him in that moment.

"No, Germany!" Italy immediately protested, then climbed onto the still stunned nation's lap with such speed that cocoa slopped all over the table. "I love Germany!"

Prussia watched the events with a calculating eye. When Germany began to pat Italy's back awkwardly and Italy stopped sobbing, he nodded in recognition. Hmpf, no wonder they never got anywhere.

"Say, West, out of completely academic interest. What do you just think happened?"

"What?" Germany turned back to his brother. "What are you on about now, brother?" He frowned. "Haven't you already made enough of a mess of things for today?"

"I asked," Prussia said through gritted teeth, "what you think just happened. If you want to keep a whole window in this house, you'd better answer!"

"How dare you threaten me!" Germany said and stood awkwardly, still holding Italy. "And you'd better believe you'll have to pay for those windows!"

"Oh? Oh, and who is going to make me, eh?" Prussia smirked and took a cup, slurping the cocoa with exaggerated care.  
"Not muscle-bound, brainless West, who still hasn't figured out that his best friend isn't exactly straight and has been waiting to fuck him for the last, oh, forty-five years?"

This time, Italy was the one who squeaked. Although that may have been less from Prussia's word's and more from how Germany dropped him as he went for his brother with murder in his eyes.

* * *

A constant litany of "oh no, oh no, don't let them kill each other! Most of all, don't let them kill me!" went through Italy's head when Germany finally lost control.

Deciding that loving self-sacrifice, while it had many fine qualities, wasn't quite within the Italian modus operandi, he made scarce. A cupboard door was not the most sturdy defence, but it felt very good to have something to hide behind. Especially when the clatter of flying cooking pots joined the angry yelling.

It seemed as if Plan L(ove) would fail even more spectacularly than plan C. It might even be the last plan Italy and Prussia hatched together. As things seemed right now, the brothers were about to kill each other bare-handedly, provided someone didn't grab a knife set.

Wait a minute... Italy frowned and then relocated to beneath the table, when the spice-rack came flying through the air. There was something strange about this fight, though he couldn't _quite_ put his finger on it...

Hesitantly, Italy stuck his head out and took a peek.

Germany was shaking Prussia by his shirt and yelling incoherently at him. Meanwhile, Prussia's hand snaked along the counter until it encountered a large wooden spoon. With a ferocious grin, he whacked Germany over the head with it.

Germany stumbled backwards, but grabbed hold of a chair and steadied himself. Italy almost went back completely under the table when he realized that Germany was actually growling at Prussia, a deep and unsettling rumble.

"Take that, West! Kehehehe- Ooof!"

The chair, solid oak like all of Germany's furniture, was swung with frightening accuracy and Prussia crashed to the floor like a sack of potatoes. Moments later, he was up again, albeit with some wobble to his steps. He proceeded to demonstrate serious skills in cast-iron pan fighting, probably picked up from years of being clobbered by Hungary.

More items went flying through the kitchen and Italy crept back beneath the table, feeling almost overwhelmed with misery. They were going to kill each other and he wouldn't have anyone left. Germany was senseless with fury, while Prussia kept laughing and taunting him with death-defying ease, acting as if he'd never had more... fun...

Oh, dear God in heaven.

This was Prussia flirting.

* * *

Finally Germany managed to pin his infuriating, crazy asshole of a brother to the floor. It took all his strength to keep the squirming nation still and he was very grateful for his larger frame. Damn the man, but he could still fight!

Now Germany was sporting a cut to the forehead, his knee was aching from a lucky frying-pan strike and he'd be bruised all over tomorrow. But, he thought as he leaned forward to keep Prussia from wiggling away beneath him, he'd gotten the bastard down! And now he could...

Well, he'd figure something out. Possibly involving the arrest and deportation of a certain rabid nation. Maybe he could bribe someone to make false papers, stating that the fool was actually Swiss...

Unfortunately, far from looking cowed and ready to beg forgiveness, Prussia was positively glowing. His face was flushed and he kept bucking beneath Germany in a most distracting way.

"Are you all right, Germany, Prussia?" Italy said from behind, making him jump in sudden guilt. Oh god, _Italy_! Who was- Who said-

Germany nearly lost his grip then, Prussia using his distraction to try and break free. Resolutely shoving every thought of what Italy's revelation of possible non-heterosexual leanings might mean into the deepest basement of his mind, Germany determined to focus on one mess at a time.

"Would you just give up!" Germany panted, as the body beneath him twisted once more.

"Never give up, West," Prussia grinned, "haven't you learned that yet?"

"I don't think Prussia is the type to give up," Italy piped in. "But maybe we can get him to give in?"

"What?"   
Germany was beginning to feel that something was very wrong about this situation. It wasn't just Prussia's deranged grin, nor the rather... suspicious... lump he tried not to sit on. His brother could go a bit strange when he was fighting, nothing new about that (unfortunately). He had decades of practice in ignoring it.

But why was Italy getting all touchy-feely with Germany's neck? Couldn't he see Germany was a little busy here?

"Ve, Germany..."

Germany ran through his mental catalogue of Italian intonations, but none quite fit. The closest he could get was 'wants something (read: pasta) and believes he is about to get it' , but there were subtle differences. Everyone had been so confusing lately, and his head was beginning to hurt from it all.

"Germany, don't you think we could find something better to do with Prussia than this?"

"I'm fully - stop that infernal wriggling! - open for suggestions!"

"Oh great!" Italy said and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "Then stay right where you are, I'll get the handcuffs France gave you on your last birthday!"

"You do that," Germany said, before he fully realized what Italy had suggested. Handcuffs?

"Ohh, kinky," Prussia laughed beneath him and licked away some blood from his lip.

Suddenly, that lump which Germany had done his best to ignore began to feel very intruding.   
Doing his best to ignore the blush that spread over his face, he tried to visualize cool showers, Russia, icy Alps, winter in Berlin- no, hold on! No thinking of Berlin and the blinding smile on Prussia's face when you celebrated the reunion in '89!

Now extremely uncomfortable with the whole situation, Germany tried to stand on his knees instead. Only as soon as he did, Prussia pushed up after him, looking far too pleased with himself.   
For a moment, Germany debated releasing his brother. But frankly, even this was preferable to not having a house left tomorrow.

He drew a deep, calming breath. Focus. Italy's potential involvement with Prussia, this odd behaviour, it _didn't matter_. It wasn't about him, he'd realized at last during that damn phone conversation. It never was about him anyway.

Now then, the problem at hand. Fighting made Prussia horny. They'd been in similar situations before. He knew how to handle it; ignore everything and act as if nothing is happening. Until he'd learnt that trick, he'd kept messing up his training back in the days; much to the amusement of his bastard brother.

So. Confine Prussia, clean up, have a drink (break down because you've missed your chance with Italy, you complete fucked up loser)... Actually, make that a dozen drinks.

"Have you completely lost your mind?" he hissed, venting some of his confusion by channelling it into anger. "What if Italy notices?"

"I can share," Prussia said and winked at him. "Can you?"

Before Germany could answer (or get an aneurysm) Italy was back, carrying three pairs of handcuffs. Of course they were covered with tacky fur in the colours blue, white and red, but right now Germany couldn't have cared less.

"Great," he said as Italy dangled the cuffs in front of his face, "if you put them on, I can lock him up. Then we may need a doctor. He's gone insane! I mean, worse than usual..."

"You can play doctor with me any day, West," Prussia offered.

"Shut up! Italy, get a move on."

There was an unusually thoughtful look in Italy's eyes as he stroked the fuzz of the cuffs. "Didn't Germany say that it was better to handcuff dangerous prisoners with their hands behind their back?" he finally asked.

Prussia frowned and for the first time since he had gotten inside of the house, looked seriously perturbed. "Hey, what are you-"

What happened next almost shattered Germany's composure. As Italy bent down besides Germany, still smiling as far as he could see, something seemed to pass between him and Prussia. Purple-red eyes widened slightly and the trapped nation drew an almost shaky breath, before relaxing slightly.

"Italy?" Germany glanced at his old friend. No, no they said they weren't... No!

"Ve, hurry up, Germany," Italy said and grinned, "the cocoa is going cold."

Was there even any left after their fight? Never mind. Italy's suggestion did make sense (what was wrong with this day?) so Germany used Prussia's distraction to flip him over on his stomach. Continuing the whole "twilight zone" theme of this day, Italy snapped the blue cuff's on Prussia's hands with quick, efficient motions.

"There we go, Germany," he said happily, "you can let go now."

"Great," Germany said and climbed off Prussia. When the albino stayed put, only turning his head to blow Germany a raspberry, he sank back down on the floor and sighed in relief.

The kitchen was a mess. He would have to repair the windows in both ground-floor bedrooms and hall. Something was seriously wrong with Prussia and he could only pray that it didn't mean he was about to run off with Italy. And the dogs, where had they got to?   
All Germany wanted was to take a few moments to relax before dealing with it all.

Only now did he realise that his left shoulder ached something wicked, courtesy of a well-aimed kick from his dear brother. When he massaged it and winced, Italy at once suggested that they put some salve on the bruise.

At least his friend's kindness never changed, he thought with a grateful smile, as Italy helped him remove his shirt. He didn't forget to keep a watchful eye on Prussia, though he seemed docile enough.   
Although something had definitely snapped in him. Could nations go senile? What if he started seeing things like England? Maybe America would have some advice, or he could-

Click. Click.

"Uh?"

It took Germany a few seconds to understand what had happened. One moment, Italy was pulling down his shirt and fussing over him, the next - he snapped a pair of handcuffs on him?

"What the hell is going on?" Germany cried. "Have you both lost your minds?"   
He jerked at the fuzz-covered metal, but as tacky as they might look, France gave sturdy presents. With his hands locked behind his back, Germany was effectively trapped.

"Maybe we have, West," Prussia said and rose to his knees, beginning to crawl closer. "You're a really bad influence, you know."

" _I_ am a really bad influ- Eeep!"

Suddenly, Italy was pressed tight against his back, hands working on Germany's belt.

"Yes. See, Germany," Italy agreed, "he is always yelling and ordering us around. So, when we try and try, and you still won't do what we want you to do..." Italy pulled Germany's trousers about halfway down and made a happy little noise at what he found inside.

"We just have to take matters into our own hands and make you obey," Prussia finished, grinning.

"Ahh! What are you doing, Italy!" Germany tried to get away from the persistent hands stroking him through his boxers. He had mostly gotten used to the grabby hands of his weird little friend, but this was a whole new level.

"What does it look like he's doing?" Prussia asked and laughed at Germany's attempts at fleeing, before coming closer and putting a definite end to that idea.

Now Prussia was so near Germany that the confused nation could feel the warmth of his body even through his (rapidly disappearing) clothes.

About then, Italy's fingers found his nipples and began playing with them. He was larger and stronger and really ought to be able to free himself, but instead Germany found himself freezing up completely.

"Ever told you that you're a bit slow, West?" Prussia said, his voice unusually husky. He pushed himself even closer, until Germany was firmly trapped between the two kneeling nations. In this position, he soon become acutely familiar with the erections of both Prussia in front of him and Italy behind... and soon enough, a wildly blushing Germany felt his own desire begin to take physical form.

"I can't- I'm-" Germany gasped and squirmed. Since Prussia's hands were also bound, he couldn't touch Germany very well, but he was commencing a highly successful attack on Germany's naked shoulder with his mouth.

"Ve," Italy said from behind, and pulled Germany's hands down towards his own erection, "do you really want us to stop? Hmm...?"

Desire, humiliation and confusion warred in Germany. "But you-" he gasped, feeling his fingers touch Italy's sex through only two thin layers, "And my brother!"

"We want you," Prussia said between sloppy kisses, "and we're really tired of dropping hints."

"What hints?"

"Germany!" Italy sounded sincerely frustrated for once. He took a firm grip of Germany's hair, pulling him backwards and exposing his neck even more to Prussia, who happily exploited the situation.   
"Why do you think we've been trying to take you out on dates?" he asked, every word a warm breath in Germany's ear.

"Dates?" He shuddered and, without really planning to, somehow found himself bending along with Italy's insistent pull. It both pushed him against Prussia's hardness and gave Italy better access to his nipples. Once he found himself like this, Germany was unable to move back into a slightly less incriminating position, though a rapidly fading voice in his mind insisted he should.

"Idiot." Prussia bit him, a delicious sharp little spike of pain on his neck, "What did you think all those restaurants, operas, walks in the park and crap was?"

"Unghh..." Germany hardly even remembered any walks in parks, because Italy had been kind enough to open his trousers and free himself. Though he ached to see the hot length he was fondling, the feeling of Italy's sex in Germany's hands was enough to shut down most higher brain-functions all on its own.

"Mmm," Italy purred and began touching Germany all over, while moving against the bound hands stroking him.

"I'm sorry for turning you down all those years ago," Italy got out between small gasps, "but you just, ah, Germany was so overwhelming."

He laughed sweetly in Germany's ear and sat back to get rid of his trousers entirely.   
"But now that I've had time to consider," he said and pulled down Germany's underwear, freeing his swollen erection. "I think I do want Germany. A lot!" He twisted a nipple and giggled at the sound this caused.

Prussia whined in frustration as he saw how both Italy and Germany were rapidly losing clothes, while he was still completely covered. "Some assistance here, Italy?" he demanded.

"Sorry, sorry," came the distracted mumble from behind Germany.

Said nation was still doing his best to take in the situation, even if he was afraid that he'd lost all control over the situation some undefined time ago. When Italy reached around him in order to open Prussia's shirt, his mind suddenly snapped back to exactly whose cock was grinding against his own.

"Wait!" Germany yelled in half-panic and pushed backwards, almost falling on top of Italy. "We shouldn't - Prussia's my brother, dammit! We _can't_ do this!"

All three nations halted in their movements for a few seconds. Then Prussia rocked back on his heels and stood up with a grunt of effort. One part of Germany wanted to sigh in relief, perhaps now the world would finally tilt back to its correct axis and life would make sense again.

At the same time, there was another, rather frantic, part which protested that now when they'd finally found something besides brawling Prussia did well, they ought to let him finish!

Then his gaze met Prussia and Germany felt himself freeze again. That twist of his lips, the slump of his shoulders... Somehow, the familiar light of his kitchen lamp managed to paint startlingly deep shadows on Prussia's face. It revealed a lack of the haughty pride that was as much a part of Prussia as his obnoxious ego, and without it, he seemed so much smaller than Germany's mental picture.

Italy's hand was around his left biceps, and now his surprisingly sharp nails dug into Germany's flesh. He heard an tiny hiss of - anger, worry? He didn't know, but it was most unexpected from the usually carefree nation.

"See, Italy? Told you so," Prussia said, looking up at the ceiling, the stove, everywhere but the two nations on the floor. "Just too much awesome for him to handle, kehehee...." He twitched his head as a quick farewell, now sporting stiff grin. "Bye then. Ludwig."

Prussia hadn't called him that since... well, pretty much never.

"Wonder if Poland could rent me a room? That'd be a sight, us together! Bet we could make make Lithuania crack in two days flat!"

And, just like that, Germany remembered when he'd last heard that name. That time his brother's face had also turned empty, when his laughter rang like a broken bell. It was the sound of loss – of land, of kings and of... of him?

"No!" Forgetting that he couldn't use his hands for support, Germany would have toppled over except for Italy's grip on his arm. "Wait, brother!"

"I can't," Prussia said, and the not-smile on his face widened even more. "I'm sorry, West, I've tried. Just can't hang around and wait any longer."

"No!" Germany struggled to get up and find the words, but he didn't have any idea what to do or say. He'd never known what to say, really, to anyone. "Don't... Italy! Tell him not to go," he ordered.

"Prussia," Italy said obediently, "I don't want you to go away."

But his fingers dug deeper into Germany's arm and he understood the meaning loud and clear. Not good enough.

"Thanks, cutie. You were pretty awesome too, just so you know."

Finally, Germany found his balance and got up on shaky feet. Prussia looked like a badly put together porcelain figure, about to break in the heat of the kiln. Handcuffed, the top buttons of his shirt undone, face developing a bruise and sporting a horrible false grin.

It was all so confusing. When he'd changed the locks and shut himself, it was because they'd left him behind. His only comfort had been that at least he knew what was happening.   
He'd really, honestly believed that they would abandon him again – and that was, oh, that had been stupid, hadn't it? War and betrayal and years of misunderstandings hadn't kept either of these menaces out of his hair.

And now...

His brother.

And his best friend.

Both claimed they loved him, that they _wanted_ him. Could he live with that?

He glanced back at lovely Italy, sitting on the floor in only his shirt, the half-hard cock Germany had been fondling only moments ago peeking out from between sunbrowned legs. His face had rarely looked more serious, nor more tempting to Germany.   
Italy, who had saved him from a loneliness so ingrained in him he didn't even know that it was there. Italy, whose sweetness and light was sought by so many, and who still preferred to come visit _him_!

Then he looked at Prussia, beaten but still not down. His brother, the living collection of all the extreme up and downs of a nation, which Germany had only tasted so far. A man who ought to be a memory, but clung to life with a vitality that shamed more than one other nation.

And he remembered what it was like to come home to a house without them. With his heart heavy, knowing that they weren't just out, they weren't just working. The certainty that nobody would come here at all.

Germany loved his solitude. He rejoiced in the clean order of knowing that everything was in place, doing what it was supposed to do. But these last days...

No Prussia to eat the food he cooked and then leave his crap all over the place. No Italy who invited himself in for dinner, football, a snuggled up sleep-over. It went far too fast to vacuum and launder without someone there to mess things up. He'd tried the television, but it couldn't hold his interest. The empty voices babbling only made it obvious how lifeless the house was.

He'd walked his dogs, he'd done his work and he'd stewed in his anger at the thought of those two idiotic, messy, ungrateful...   
Were they laughing together? Would he see them at all in the future? Why, _why_ did they act as if he wasn't part of their- Their family. His family. Bickering, disorganized, utterly hopeless. Utterly lovely. A chaotic headache with awful in-laws, but one which he couldn't scare away with his temper or perfectionism, where they all knew each other’s faults and still came back.

What was he supposed to do without both of them there to annoy him, anyway?

Before that thought had finished, he shook off Italy's hands. Two determined steps brought Germany up next to Prussia. Then he proceeded to prove that his brother wasn't the only one who could win a fight without using his hands.

It was almost too easy to trap Prussia against the doorpost. At the first kiss, he turned stiff, only a choked sound escaping. As it deepened, Prussia came undone against Germany, falling towards him until most of his weight rested against Germany's chest.

Somewhere behind them, Germany heard Italy give a whoop of pleasure before a smaller body careened into his back.

Their teeth slammed together painfully, but the curse caught in Germany's throat when he saw how his brother looked. Flushed and almost trembling with pleasure. Something between a sob and a laugh escaped one of them – he honestly couldn't tell who - when Italy wriggled a pair of enthusiastic hands between them and fairly ripped open his shirt.

"Ahh, West," Prussia said and let his head fall forward, resting against Germany's shoulder, "you're incredibly difficult to deal with, you know that?"

"Yes," Germany said and pushed a knee between Prussia's legs, "but I'm hardly the only one."

Prussia hissed and kissed him, his usual aggression returning with full force. "You bastard!"

"But our bastard!" the laughing Italy said and tried to climb up on Germany's back. "Hmm, don't you guys think we should continue this in bed? As long as we can find one without glass in it!"


	3. Kisses and hazardous knees

It took some heated debate between them before they finally reached a bedroom. The discussion began when Germany wanted the handcuffs removed. This suggestion Prussia and Italy vetoed with a resounding _no_. As a compromise, Italy suggested that they might let only Prussia go, since he was less likely to run away. After Germany scoffed that he wasn't the type to run from anything - which earned him a pair of pitying looks - he continued to protest the idea as unfair, unjust and simply not happening!

While Germany might have taken enough leave of his senses to let Italy bind him, he wasn't stupid enough to allow his brother free reign as well. Prussia pouted a little, but was unwilling to back down from the chance to enjoy West in bondage, even if it cost him his freedom, too.

In the end, both the German brothers stayed cuffed. Italy, armed with a kitchen knife, removed Prussia's shirt and helped him with the belt. They left his trousers on, since Prussia complained it was cold, and couldn't they just hurry up and fuck already?

This caused another discussion, this time regarding a few broken windows. It might have escalated into a new fight, if not for the little matter of both combatants being handcuffed and unable to defend themselves.

Finally, Italy forced some luke-warm cocoa into their mouths. While Germany sputtered and Prussia tried to lick a drop off his nose, he threatened to gag them both unless they finally got going.

Germany's bedroom was on the bottom floor but, alas, inaccessible due to hazardous knocking. Since even Prussia admitted that it would be hard to fit three people in his bed, not to mention navigate the souvenir-filled obstacle course that was the floor, that left the guest rooms upstairs. Which at least meant they were guaranteed to be free of mysteriously appearing glass shards.

Goal thus determined, Italy climbed onto German's back. From this elevated seat, he told his new underlings that as Italy was the only one with his hands free, he was going to top tonight! And now, would his trusty German steed please head to the bedroom before he got frostbite on his vital regions?

"You mean your stomach?" Prussia grinned.

"Beeh!" Italy answered, poking his tongue out at Prussia. He pulled at Germany's hair as if it was the very short reins of a very embarrassed horse. "You're both captives of the mighty Italy tonight, so no talking back! Or I'll withhold the pasta."

"Oh, the horror."

" _And_ the olive oil!" Italy waved the bottle of improvised lubrication imperiously. This threat got even Prussia to shut up.

Germany was blushing furiously at having to walk nude through the house - with the curtains open, no less! Still, after a token protest at the indignity of it all, he told Italy to keep a tight hold and please stay still while they used the stairs. The sooner they got this part over with, the better...

The trio survived the stairs themselves without mishap, but only Italy's quick grab of a pair of decorative antlers saved them from a painful tumble when they passed the balcony door.

The _all glass_ balcony door. Beyond which was a wrought-iron balcony fence. And, as it so happened, this particular balcony faced the home of Germany's elderly neighbours. Who were just sitting down to enjoy their late-afternoon coffee and cake when the mostly nude procession passed said balcony door.

Italy waved, Prussia called out a loud Halloooo! and Germany almost broke his neck trying to run, duck and cover himself at the same time.

"Good thing Germany builds his home so solid!" Italy chirped once everyone had regained their balance. He patted Germany's hair in consolation. "Ve, your neighbours are so old, they probably have really bad eyesight!"

"Unfortunately that's not the only thing solid here," Prussia said and shook his head. "Jeez, West. You're really determined to die a virgin, aren't you?"

Germany was too mortified to answer. God, the man was a former ambassador! This would be all over Europe by tomorrow!

Not even Italy gently petting his hair could make him repress that picture. He half-ran towards to bedroom, face burning and shoulders hunched as much as possible, while the other nation clung to him.

Once they reached the first guest room, Germany dove onto the bed and tried to crawl under the covers. A not completely successful endeavour, due to his strict bed-making practices, but enthusiastic enough that he shook Italy off.

"Oof! Careful, Germany!"

Still, burrowing down in bed was a really good idea, Italy thought. He loved to snuggle and as soon as he'd helped poor Prussia with those jeans, they could all get warm beneath the covers.

"Shit! They saw us!" Germany moaned. He was hunched half-kneeling on the bed, trying to protect his private parts from any further prying eyes.

This, in Italy's opinion, kind of defeated the whole purpose of their coming there, but he could let Germany mope for a little while. A very short little while.

"Wouldn't have happened if we'd done it on the kitchen table. Like _I_ suggested," Prussia said and flopped down on his stomach beside them.

"How am I supposed to show my face at the next EU meeting?"

"Don't let them know Italy was topping?" Prussia suggested. "By the way, Italy..." he rolled over and motioned with his head to the fly of his jeans. Italy bent closer and looked the many buttons curiously. Prussia had never really become comfortable with zippers and happily embraced any fashion that allowed him to avoid them. Since Italy usually preferred comfortable, practical clothes (when he remembered to wear clothes at all) the concept of button-up jeans was new.

"In fact, I wouldn't mind getting to know your sweet little ass closer tonight," Prussia continued and rolled his hips suggestively. "Na, what do you think? I'll make it feel awesome for you, cutie!"

"No!" Italy said. Aha, that was how you was supposed to pry open all the buttons without squishing your fingers? Tricky.  
"I want to, ve!"

Oho, what was this? Prussia apparently didn't much believe in underwear either.

"And Germany and Prussia are even worse at romance than I am at war," he continued, trying to sound stern. "I'm _not_ letting either of you near my butt until you have both been through some proper Italian love-training!"

While Prussia roared with laughter, Germany whimpered something about how he always knew his sins would come back to haunt him, but did they have really to do it by the way of Italians?

Finally they managed to get rid of the last items of clothing. Loudly encouraged by Prussia, Italy prepared the bed and uncapped the olive oil, letting it wait on the nightstand for now. Then he took a moment to take a good leisurely look at his soon-to-be lovers.

Germany was like a delicious ripe tomato with his face all red like that. It made Italy want to taste him all over and see if he couldn't tease that partially erect cock all the way. Hopefully make 'it' blush, too. Perhaps Italy would finally be able to get his friend to cut loose! All he wanted was to see Germany to enjoy himself, without stressing over the consequences!

Prussia was a paler, slightly wirier version of his brother. He seemed eager, easily met Italy's gaze and seemed to challenge him to come up with something fun, and fast! But beneath the devil-may-care attitude, he too was tense.   
Italy wondered how it felt to make love - or was it always only fucking? - over and over again. Hundreds of years, never once completely trusting your partners... perhaps it was no wonder that Prussia claimed to prefer loneliness these days.

Well. Italy rubbed his hands in anticipation before pulling up the covers around them all. He had time to spare and would happily spend the next hundred years teaching them both what loving someone meant. For once, Italy had not backed down from the challenge that faced him. And now, he very much looked forward to reaping his rewards.

When Italy lay down besides Germany and began to gently pet him, Germany thought he must have died and gone to heaven. As he felt Prussia move in behind him, and how he was rapidly growing harder against Germany's backside, he realized that this was a mistaken assumption.

They were still alive, but heading straight for hell.

Soon, the other two nations had pushed Germany onto his back and were using his helpless state to the fullest. With his hands bound beneath him, he couldn't help but arch up, offering his nipples and throat to Italy's curious tongue.

Italy thought he might swoon at the sight, and giggled nervously to cover for it. Then, when realizing that Germany was _really_ allowing him to do what he wanted with his bound body, Italy eagerly attacked. He felt like a man starved for decades, suddenly now presented with all his favourite delicacies.

"Please," Germany whispered, squirming restlessly.

"What do you want me to do?" Italy murmured. The face that often looked so silly and confused was both kind and, somehow, seemed more mature now. Such a radiant gentleness scared and aroused Germany more than he cared to consider.

"Anything," he admitted, "just touch me more. I don't... Anything is good."

The kiss they shared then was different from any before, though there had already been a great many between them. More than Germany could have imagined, that fateful day when he found his "tomato fairy" in a box.

Italy's tongue pushed gently, insistently, against his lips. When Germany opened his mouth, the other nation took a careful hold of his face and showed him just why Italians were so adored by women. He did not merely kiss, he made love to Germany mouth-to-mouth, every stroke of his tongue a caress and a joy.

Where they touched, Italy's soft warmth stroking against his teeth and lips, Germany thought he would catch fire. Italy teased Germany's tongue until he just had to push back and follow. Somehow he found that he was the one exploring Italy's mouth. It was all so odd and new and wonderful that Germany was soon trembling beneath him, straining in his bonds and silently begging for more kisses.

Prussia had spent a few moments simply admiring the pair. Basking in their shared pleasure, he had been happy to enjoy the show of sweet Italy stunning his brother with such easy touches. Now, feeling drawn to the growing heat between them, Prussia moved closer. With his hands useless, he had to resort to other means to gather their attention. For once, not even Prussia felt like screaming and demanding the spotlight. Instead, displaying a rare gentleness, he touched them with his lips, just nudging them really - on a cheek, a brow, an ear - wherever he could reach without disturbing their kiss.

Once Italy turned towards him, he eagerly captured the smaller nation's mouth, taking a kiss he had come to consider more and more often during their weeks of plotting. So soft, so _warm_...

Finally, Prussia tore himself away, to look down and meet Germany's adorably confused gaze. The spike of hunger that hit him then... It must have been visible on his face, because West swallowed and arched just a little bit more beneath them.

He wished that he'd had a camera set up right not, to save this image for his most secret diaries. While Prussia knelt above Germany's left leg, Italy had plastered himself to his other side, and he thought they must make a lovely study in contrasts, all three of them.

But what made Prussia ache to keep this memory forever, even if only on a frozen photo, was the look of West so bound between them. Despite his little brother's deep blush and slightly panicked eyes, he still cut an impressive figure, especially when lying next to the smaller Italian. Firm muscles, hard lines, such a disciplined body!   
Next to him, lovely in his own way, but so much more approachable were Italy's soft curves and easy temperament. That silent strength made Prussia's stomach tighten with desire, the knowledge that West had given them permission to bind him and play with him.

Although of course, Prussia too had abandoned his freedom to kind Italy, whose smile was so inviting, embracing even an old bastard like him...

Spreading his legs slightly, he sank down a bit more, until his dick just brushed against Germany's. And if that didn't make West twitch! This in turn had Prussia grinning evilly and he quickly shifted the angle, so that the tip of his cock rested on the firm stomach below him, then took a moment to simply preen at what was (finally!) coming.

"Can I, West?" Prussia asked, when his desire overrode even the pleasure of basking in superiority. "Come on, can I?"

Uncertain that his voice would work properly, Germany only nodded and opened his mouth. That he unconsciously stretched towards the other man did not go unnoticed by either of his partners, though Italy wisely kept silent. And Prussia was soon quite busy with something else.

This time, there was no careful coaxing between them, but only Prussia's chapped lips crushing Germany's with demanding pressure, matched by the insistent hardness further down.

If Italy was gentle and warm, a lazy day by the Mediterranean, Prussia was intense, laying claim to mouth and lips as if he wanted to conquer every breath that escaped from Germany.

Then Germany's two lovers moved, switching their positions again. This time Italy's kisses were broken up by small endearments spoken in a haphazard mix of German and Italian.   
He rubbed his nose in Germany's hair, drawing in deep breaths and licked his lips softly.

"Mmm, Germany tastes better than anything I've ever cooked," Italy mumbled, before moving in for another deep kiss.

With Italy wriggling ever closer and Prussia rubbing himself suggestively against Germany's leg, he could quite clearly feel their arousals pushing against him in a most interesting way.   
But except for an occasional nudge, such as when Italy slid down to throw his arms around Germany and loudly proclaim his love, or when Prussia moved up again and for a few too-too short moments pressed a leg against his cock, none of his lovers touched Germany _there_. What began as an interestingly tense feeling soon grew into pure frustration.

"Can't you, ah!"   
His words were swallowed by Prussia's kiss. The small wound on his brother's lip came open and Germany shivered. Then the older nation was biting at his lip slowly, the small tinge of pain in the midst of all the softness sending fresh sparks of excitement through him. All the while his wide-open eyes stared at him with such hunger, as if they wanted to devour Germany whole.

"Ohh, I think it's feeling lonely!" Italy tickled Germany's belly-button, then followed the trail of blond fuzz down to the curls around his sex. However, he carefully avoided actually touching Germany's cock, refusing to give him much needed relief.

"Yes," Germany said and tried to lift his hips towards that lovely hand, but with the two bodies weighing him down, he was effectively pinned. "Please!"

"Hmm," Prussia said and attacked Germany's ear with sharp teeth and an unsettlingly arousing voice. "You really _haven't_ fucked anyone before, have you, West?"

"N- no." Germany bit his lip as soon as the admission slipped out. This - touching, feeling the two of them around him - it was almost painfully good. But it was also quite overwhelming and he wasn't certain he could deal with his brother's usual brand of barbed comments right now.

To his surprise, Prussia only chuckled against his ear, before he kissed him fiercely again.

"Hush, West," he whispered. "That's not what this is about... Hell, I even took lessons for your sake!"

"Lessons?"

Ignoring him, Prussia turned towards Italy. "Think I'll take the edge off for West, eh? The upper half is all yours. But it'd be awesome if you gave me a hand!"

"Ve!" Italy trilled and climbed up to sit on Germany's chest. Meanwhile Prussia began the complicated process of moving off his brother and down the bed without kneeing anyone in any vital regions or falling off the bed. That the blanket had tangled around one of his legs, or that Italy was wiggling his cute little ass distractingly close to West's cock did not help the proceedings run smoother.

The blanket had mostly been pushed off Germany, what with the two nations climbing all over him. Once Prussia wasn't kneeling on it any longer, Italy grabbed a corner and draped the blanked over his shoulders, making a haphazard mantle.

"Don't like to be cold," Italy smiled down at Germany. Then, with a teasing twinkle in his eyes, he began twirling the eternally renegade hair-curl around a finger while speaking in an increasingly breathless voice.

"I thiiiink Germany has suspected what my hair is for before, hasn't he? Ve, 's very fun to play with..." Italy closed his eyes and slowly began to stroke his cock with his other hand.  
"But I think it will be even more fun to have Germany play with it!" The improvised mantle slipped off as quickly as it had been made.

To Germany's fascinated eyes, the blanket folding Italy looked like a cloud, a perfect image for how unreachable he had been for years... except now he was here, in Germany's bed. And oh, how he ached to finally touch all that sunkissed flesh!

Italy hummed in pleasure when he opened his eyes and found Germany completely entranced by the sight of his hand, chewed nails and all, playing with Italy's nipples.

"Remember, mmh, this little forest? Where I convinced you to play football instead of going to that meeting?" Italy asked, while his fingers wandered downwards.

"Or the time..." Now his hand danced around his stomach, creeping steadily lover and inevitably dragging Germany's gaze along. "I showed you my, ah, beautiful Firenze..."   
"We've really been all over the Italian peninsula, haven't we? I think we picnicked here once... I wish I had dared kiss you, then, but I hope I’ll get the chance soon, ve?"   
With those words, Italy let go of his haircurl. He bent forward and opened his legs further to give Germany a proper view. Lowering his voice, Italy kept stroking himself.  
"Do you want to find all the places we've visited together, Germany? Do you want... to help me make new memories for them all?"

Judging from the way his mouth was half open and trembling slightly, Germany was more than eager to visit Italy - though also slightly too far gone for coherent words.

"Shit, Italy," Prussia called from behind Italy, "you're making me all hot and bothered! And I can't even see anything!"

Prussia dropped a kiss on Germany's thigh and continued before the confused nation remembered how to do something as dull and distracting as actual speaking.

"But I gotta admit, this is quite the sight..."

Then Germany stopped hearing or thinking anything at all, because a warm mouth closed around his cock.

When Germany bucked and cried out beneath him, Italy's little trip down memory lane was abruptly interrupted. He fell slightly forward, managing to push his cock against Germany's nose and simultaneously clocking him on the ear with a knee.

"Ouch! What're youaaahhh..." Germany's eyes rolled back as Prussia swallowed him whole, demanding every single bit of Germany's shattered attention.

"Sorry!" Italy said and glanced back to make sure that he didn't sit down on Prussia's head. Only to find himself unable to look away, caught by the sight of Prussia's mouth working around Germany's length.

The position - Prussia half on his side, shoulder resting against Germany's leg and head twisted so that every tendon in his neck was clearly visible - looked somewhat uncomfortable, but this didn't appear to diminish Prussia's enjoyment in the least.

Italy's glazed eyes raked over the twisting body, resting on the smattering of scars spread over his chest for a moment, then continuing down to admire Prussia's cock as it rose adorably patch of white curls.

Huh, Italy thought distractedly, he really is an albino, all over! Romano would be so pleased that they could finally clear that up.   
Oookay, that was an awkward image to bring to mind right now; he had quite enough brothers in this bed already, thank you very much.

"Germany." Italy snapped his fingers to get the other nation's attention, and perhaps gather his own thoughts while he was at it. "Hey, Germany?"

That gasp meant yes. Probably. "I want you to do to me," he purred, "like Prussia does to you, ve?"

Trying to bring his errant mind back on track again, and realizing Germany might not be up to much inspiring conversation, Italy turned around and snuggled down next to Germany.   
It was a shame that his friend's bed was unusable at the moment... There, he could have stretched out properly. Instead Italy was forced to bend his legs and rest them against the headboard, which was both hard and cold against his feet. But at least he could easily reach Prussia's cock with both hands like this. And Germany should be able to reach him with his mouth too!

Unfortunately, Germany seemed a bit too lost in pleasure to understand that a good lover always considered his partner(s) too. Reminding himself that virgins required plenty of instruction, Italy gently tugged his head in the right direction. Once Germany's lips connected with Italy's sex, he got the message and began to suck. A bit erratically, but definitely showing the proper spirit.

Italy closed his eyes and groaned appreciatively when Germany got the idea to use his tongue; for a beginner he was quite decent. And, from the sounds of it, Prussia was also quite skilled. Italy squeezed and stroked him encouragingly, relieved that he wouldn't have to teach them _everything_.

Similar, though much less coherent thoughts, were swirling through Germany's mind. Hope, vague worry that he didn't disappoint Italy too badly, mixed with the realization that having Prussia sucking him off might just be the best thing his brother had ever done for him.

Sometimes, Prussia would swallow his entire length, enveloping him in wet, hot suction that threatened to push him over the edge. Just before it went too far, the damned sadist released him for a moment and drew in a cold breath around his burning hardness.

Then, while Germany was still shivering, Prussia came back. He licked all over, very gently using his teeth and alternating between kissing, sucking and nibbling at the tip. Over and over, sometimes gliding down one side, dribbling saliva between his kisses. After a while he very carefully slipped one of Germany's balls into his mouth, playing with him gently until the pleasure became so intense it bordered on pain.

When Prussia let up his attack a little, Germany did his best to return the favour to Italy, desperately wishing to please his lover.

Every moan, every little mutter in Italian increased his desire. Germany ached to touch the other two, somehow, wanted to feel them beneath his hands.   
Oh, how he wanted to grab Italy's cock, or that goddamn strand of hair! He _knew_ there was something weird about it! Next time the opportunity presented itself, he would not let up until Italy had turned into a whimpering mess of pleasure...

Frustrating as it was, the restriction of being only able to use his mouth, also managed to make Germany feel more free to experiment. It was challenging, but also exciting to discover what he could do to Italy, solely with his lips and tongue.

Italy smelled of salt and sex, he fit so smoothly in Germany's mouth as if they had been made to come together like this. The feel of him growing thicker beneath Germany's tongue, the little sounds he made...

He had never allowed himself to imagine how it would feel to have another man's sex in his mouth before and now found the sensation almost overwhelmingly pleasing. Germany ached to take hold of Italy, to hold him fast and suck him off, as mercilessly as Prussia was currently treating him.

Attacked by pleasure on both ends, Germany couldn't last long. The next time Prussia deep-throated him, he didn't even try to hold back. Italy's cock slipped out from his lips, saliva-slick and hard, and Germany almost sobbed Prussia's name as he moved his hips desperately. Just a little, little more...

With an unintelligible cry that may have meant brother or Veneziano or something in between, Germany came. Those sinfully skilled lips kept working around him, until he fell back and sobbed out a plea that it was enough, he was dying, oh god and hell and love you.

Unseen by his lovers, Italy allowed himself a blinding grin at that. His amusement only increased when Prussia quickly let go of Germany at the last words, as if his softening sex had suddenly burned him.

Still muttering under his breath, Prussia lay down more comfortably on Germany's thigh and closed his eyes. Though he looked immensely pleased with himself, he soon began rolling his neck and grumbling about the cracking sound that made, before continuing to complain about the tiny damn bed.

Germany didn't respond, appearing almost knocked out for the moment. Only when Italy bumped him slightly, did he crack open an eye. Still flushed and breathing heavily, he nevertheless managed a wry grin and winked slightly; Italy giggled and nodded in response.

Cute as they were, the sight of his Germans so flushed and, ahem, newly-exercised made Italy _quite_ hot and bothered. Since he already had a comfortable grip around the one part of Prussia he knew the nation would listen to, he decided to use this to his advantage.

"What, you too?" Prussia groused, when it became clear that Italy wasn't just stroking him in a particularly firm way.

"No," Italy said, but quickly added, "not yet, ve!" He wanted to save himself a little bit for the main event, which he hoped wouldn't take too long to arrive. In fact...

"I'm only a little impatient," Italy said and nodded towards the utterly slack and relaxed Germany. "So... I thought we could, how to say, help motivate him a little?"

"Motiv-" Prussia blinked, stared at Germany, then at Italy and back at Germany again. The coin finally dropped into the correct slot and an incredibly lecherous grin spread over his face.   
"Oh yeah, Italy! Babe, I'm pure motivation distilled!"

With no thought of the very interesting view he was offering Germany's dazed eyes, Italy crawled over him to join Prussia at the foot of the bed.

"Ve, this bed is too small!" he complained when he almost slipped off. He waggled a finger at Prussia. "You shouldn't have thrown rocks into Germany's bedroom, his bed holds a lot more people!" A fond smile graced his features at the memory those words evoked.

"Oh?" Prussia lifted his head and quirked an eyebrow at Germany. "What haven't you been telling me now, West?"

Germany was beginning to consider if Prussia's newly discovered skills really were worth the hassle of continuous close interaction with him. Probably. Possibly.

"He didn't tell you about that time during the war?"

Prussia shook his head, his eyebrows rising in avid curiosity. "Do tell, babe. Think I gotta hear this."

"Italy," Germany began, knowing exactly which moment he was none too subtly hinting at. It was a night he'd hoped the whimsical nation had forgotten by now.

"Ve, I know!" Italy clapped his hands together and looked far too pleased with himself, curse his spaghetti-addled brain. "I can show you the pictures Japan made later!"

"Italy!"

"Awesome! So in this bed, what exactly went down?"

"It was in Germany's old house after they had been bombing for soooo long-"

"Italy, would you please," Germany tried, but of course he was ignored.

"-and I was scared and it was really cold! So, first I climbed into bed and then my big brother joined us-"

Prussia was wearing his shit-eating grin again and Italy had begun waving his hands, fully caught up in his story-teller mood. Germany closed his eyes, preparing for humiliation.

"-and in the end even Japan ended up in bed with us!"

"Did he now?"

Germany groaned. Oh, when he got out of these handcuffs...

"Yes, it was really comfy! Only," Italy pouted, "Austria said it was shameful, so he tried to sleep under the table instead. Germany had to order him to stop being so silly and come join us!"

Prussia exploded in laughter, practically convulsing against Germany's leg.

"AHAHAHAHA! Oh, I can just see it, big daddy Germany and his little boy-toys! An- and Austria under the bloody table! Awesome!" He cackled some more and then, with some difficulty, sat up to look down at Germany with a triumphant grin.

"And here you've been lecturing me for years about improper behaviour! Fraternisation, eh, West? And all the while, you were hosting orgies in bed! Orgies! Without me!"

"Nothing happened," Germany ground out. "And you know that perfectly well, brother."   
Actually, scratch that earlier foolishness about Prussia having a use; Italy could probably give great blow-jobs too.

"Ohh, I wonder if Austria agrees. Ordered into bed, honestly! By the way, does Hungary know you _ordered_ her hubby to-"

Before Prussia could finish that sentence, Germany swept out with his leg and then enjoyed the sight of his oh-so-awesome big brother flailing wildly (with, ahem, some limbs Germany had never seen old Prussia flail before) before crashing to the floor.

Ah.

Perfect.

"Weeeeeeeest," something growled from the carpet.

Now that the worst excitement had worn off for the moment, Germany's body painfully reminded him of the recent fight he had with Prussia. It also seemed that Italy had, in his enthusiasm, clapped the handcuffs on a tad tightly.

But still - he had just had the first blow-job of his life! Even if the knowledge that it came from Prussia made him feel a bit... awkward, the memory of those sensations were amazing. The mere thought was enough to make Germany blush and fidget, probably for years to come.

And now? He was lying semi-comfortably in bed while his brother was on the floor. And, since Italy didn't want them to fight again, said brother was currently being introduced to all the wonderfully distracting qualities of a certain Mediterranean nation.

Yes, Germany thought and laid on his side to more comfortably watch the show. Life was a good right now, if a bit confusing.

Then Prussia caught his eyes, bared his teeth and mouthed H-u-n-g-a-r-y, p-i-c-t-u-r-e-s and (though he looked slightly cross-eyed, since Italy was nuzzling his throat) s-o-f-u-c-k-i-n-g-d-e-a-d!

Perhaps it was the recent orgasm or the victory in the kitchen. Perhaps, if Germany had been more prone to introspection, he might have remembered the moment right after the fight. How disturbingly tempting he found it when he saw a rare glimpse of vulnerability, before his brother submitted to Italy's plans for them both and showed an even rarer moment of trust.

Whatever the reason, a very interesting idea sprung from Germany's libido and took a most definite hold of his sanity. The idea had the added benefit of providing him enough blackmail material to keep Prussia from ever spilling certain secrets to the pan-yielding defender of Austria's virtue.

"Say, Italy," he said, licking his lips at the audacity of what he was about to ask. "I know you wanted to, eh, be on top tonight."

"Mflf? Hmh!" Italy had his tongue deep inside Prussia's mouth, one hand clutching the other nation's uneven hair and the other - Germany swallowed and felt his happily wrung-out state begin to unravel - playing with the curls around Prussia's erection.

"Yes, I know, I know!" he hurried to say before Italy felt the need to break the kiss for explanations. Prussia had closed his eyes before the determined onslaught, apparently happy to go along with whatever his co-conspirator had planned. He was in that moment being carefully pushed backwards by Italy's skilled hands, until his back bent in a breathtaking curve.

"I just wondered," he took a deep breath and plunged on, "if you wanted to let me have Prussia? At the same time, I mean."

"The hell you s-"

Italy put two fingers in Prussia's mouth and none-too-gently squeezed his cock. Another very effective method, Germany noted, he must remember that one.

"I think," Italy said, hand moving up and down in a way that Germany found more fascinating than was probably good for his mental health, "that's a great idea!"

His smile was sunlight on a turquoise sea, young lovers on a moonlit piazza... In short, all the brilliant things he'd thought lost for more than fifty years. And that smile was directed straight at him, Germany.

Then Italy turned slightly, focusing more on Prussia. He pushed those last critical centimetres and allowed himself to fall down on top of the taller nation. For the first time in his life Germany understood what drove man to create art. If he could have caught the moment somehow, when an old spirit of violence barely restrained, fell beneath the gentlest of the nations, if he could have drawn the look of perfect desire and understanding that passed between them... Perhaps, if he could have created such an image, he would never have felt the need to try and prove himself a great empire.

Italy's moistened fingers teased their way down Prussia's body, before it disappeared between them. Germany drank in the sight of them, almost reeling with the desire he felt. Two men, spirits, his... Both so definitely male, with an air of youth and vigour surrounding them and yet ancient in human years. One pale and scarred, the other bronzed and soft, unfathomably dear to him.

He could no longer see what happened between them and the curiosity drove him closer to the edge of the bed. When Prussia gasped and Italy whispered comfortingly in his own language, it belatedly dawned on Germany that his dear little innocent friend really wasn't as childish as he appeared. In fact, Germany thought that there had been one very specific reason for Italy's fingers to find their way to Prussia's mouth, besides the very worthy goal of silencing his brother.

"But before we play more," Italy said and kissed Prussia a last time, "I think we have to pay some attention to your vital regions too, ve?"

"Yes," Prussia answered with a heartfelt groan, "goddamn fucking yes!"

When Italy's soft lips closed around Prussia's cock, Germany realized that he had been utterly wrong about one thing.

He did actually need his brother desperately. Because if Italy could turn the arrogant bastard into this (beautiful) powerless (passionate) creature with only a few touches and kisses, Germany wouldn't stand a chance against him on his own.

And he needed to get down on that floor _now_.

* * *

Thank heavens for Italy's obsession with food and sleeping, Germany thought, otherwise he would never get anything done after this. When he'd joined Prussia and Italy on the floor, he hadn't really thought much about what would happen. Somehow, he found himself subtly manoeuvred into kneeling opposite of Prussia, an advantage which the older nation was quick to exploit. Their kisses, slightly awkward at first, had just begun to turn into more intense things when Italy returned from his little sojourn to the bedside table.

Triumphantly, Italy held up the bottle of olive oil and, from the look shared between them, Germany was not alone in being just a little disquieted by the sensual way he handled the bottle.

"We may have created a monster," Prussia muttered.

He was proven partly right a few moments later. Because that was when the devious little creature - who'd spent how many years appearing utterly unreliable in front of Germany? - got down on his knees, poured oil all over his hand and took them both in a firm and quite competent grip.

Somehow, above the rushing of blood in his ears, Germany managed to hear a choked-off curse from Prussia too.

"Oh, don't stop!" Italy said happily. "You look so handsome, Germany and Prussia, I want to look a bit more."

They moved against each other. It was awkward at first, but as their arousal grew, Germany found it easier to thrust against Prussia, feel their cocks grind together. They moved against each other, cradled by Italy's oil-slick hands, pushing together so hard and now Prussia was biting at his chest and whining softly and shiiii-

"Don't stop _now_ , you little cocktease!" Prussia screamed when those exquisite hands let them go.

"But Italy also wants to play," said nation pouted.

Germany was too busy trying to keep his brain from spilling out of his ears in pleasure overload to speak. Though he did have a dizzy notion that Prussia would become completely unbearable if Germany got to come twice, before he had enjoyed that pleasure even once.

"Come on, Italy, baby," Prussia tried and rubbed himself against Germany. "You said you wanted to watch, right? We'll do a great show."

"Hmmm," Italy said and took a few moments to play with his hair again, a far too blissful smile on his face, while the frustrated Germans tried to move against each other.   
That too was good, but compared to what they had just had? No, much as it pained him to admit, Germany thought "cocktease" was a fair description of Italy right now.

"Ah, I know!" Italy had apparently come to some kind of decision. Seeing how it included more olive oil on his hands (and all over Germany's carpet. For once, though, he decided that it didn't really bloody matter... much), it gave him a bit of hope.

"I think," Italy purred as he put his arms around their waists, "that we've been playing around enough now, yes?"   
When kneeling, he didn't quite reach up to kiss either Germany or Prussia, though they were both quick to oblige when he turned those full lips towards them.

It was while Italy's mouth was captured by Prussia that Germany felt two slick fingers glide down his own cleft and carefully seek the entrance. From the slightly dazed look that appeared on Prussia's face, a similar thing was happening to him.

"It's good, isn't it, Germany?" Italy asked while he let his fingers work themselves into Germany's so far untouched opening.

"Yes," he whispered, and oh, it was so very good. Careful, gentle touches that nevertheless kept pressing and pushing until Germany moved his legs further apart to let them in. He couldn't move any more after that, only stand there and rest his head against Prussia's sweaty hair while his old friend opened him up and made him shiver in pleasure.

"Italy... Ahh, West," Prussia moaned against him and began moving back and forth carefully, his cock pressing against Germany's leg and stomach in a random, erotic pattern. "I'm so fucking glad you picked him up all those years ago..."

"S-so am I."

If Italy hadn't been playing him like an instrument right now, Germany might have become a bit self-conscious about how indecent they were being. Brothers, rubbing against each other, groaning in a duet of pleasure while shamelessly fucking themselves on Italy's hands. But it was too good for him to care. When he felt a third finger enter him, he realised he wanted, needed, to satisfy this newly awakened desire consuming him.

First, he had seen letting Italy take him as something to be endured, a small price to pay for the chance to finally get to touch and kiss his old friend as much as he wanted. During the course of their lovemaking, his opinion had gradually changed. Whether because of the secure gentleness the Mediterranean nation displayed, or just his obvious joy for what they were doing together, Germany had begun looking forward to being joined so closely to Italy. Even the knowledge that he was about to abandon himself to another nation's control had lost its power to intimidate. Now, though, Germany realised he just couldn't wait to be filled; not in exchange for anything, not as a symbol, but as a primal act for pleasure and nothing but.

"So handsome," Italy panted, "Oh, my dearest Germany... Mm, and Prussia too, my strong Germans... So good, could just eat you up."   
He kissed them both then, while the scent of their mingled arousal and olive oil rose around them all.

"Please do?" Prussia groaned, rocking against Germany.

"Mmm..."

Germany had a difficult time finding his voice, too many sensations tearing at him, but just that made it clear that he was burning up too quickly. And he didn't want that, not yet... Not when he could almost taste what would come next.

"Italy," he finally managed, "I w- want you to. Oh _fuck_!"

For Italy had just twisted his hand, fingers brushing over a place Germany had only read about in his most secret stash of porn. It sent lightning up Germany's spine. And, damn, if this was what it meant to be conquered back in the days no fucking wonder his brother and Austria and the rest kept squabbling all the time!

"Yeah," Prussia growled, straining at his bonds and almost pushing Germany away with his enthusiastic movements, "it's time to fuck!"

"Mhmm, don't you want a little more? I don't want to hurt Germany, since it's his first time," Italy said. He followed his words with doing that twisty thing with his fingers again, this time causing both brothers to cry out.

I don't care if it hurts! Germany wanted to scream, only right then Italy bent down to kiss and slobber all over their cocks. His protest disappeared in a wanton moan.

"Iiiiih'm no fucking virgin!" Prussia managed to squeeze out, his cock slipping free of Italy's mouth with a wet 'plop'. It went sliding against his chin in a way that made Germany want to rip off his handcuffs and shove Italy's plump little mouth against his brother's cock until he was forced to swallow it whole and oh god, how he wanted to fuck someone now!

"So you just stick West's dick up my bloody ass this instant or I'm gonna fucking _eviscerate_ you when 'm free!" Prussia finished in a rush, his thrashing motions making Italy's hand give Germany a painfully-sweet jab inside.

Italy waggled an oily finger at the threat, just smiling sunnily at the furious nation. Considering how Prussia was panting and thrusting his hips, his threat did seem rather harmless.

"Okidoki, Prussia!" Italy finally agreed, taking a few moments to stroke himself. "Do you want to lie on your tummy?"

Prussia shook his head wildly, cackling like a loon. The obvious tension in him, a slightly manic edge to his laughter and the striking contrast of an intense flush and his overall pale colouring made Prussia look even more unhinged than usual - and somehow, it also made Italy ache to have him for his own.

Easing himself backwards a bit, Prussia laid down on his back and spread his legs invitingly. Both Italy and Germany stared for a few moments, fascinated by this sweaty incarnation vision of shameless want, as every shaky breath, every half-laugh, made Prussia's hardness sway tantalizingly above his taut stomach.

"Fuck no," Prussia said once he'd wriggled into position. "I wanna watch my little brother nail me, every fuckdamned second of it. 's gonna be fucking amazing."

"O- okay," Italy said. He floundered for a moment, until he began pulling at Germany, to get him to crawl closer.

"Brother," Germany moaned, apparently completely in a daze. He couldn't stop staring at Prussia, his gaze trailing down his inviting body, the swollen cock... He managed to drag his concentration back up, until their eyes met.

Prussia thought he could happily drown in the heat that passed between them. Germany's mouth was open in a way that he would have laughed at and called completely imbecilic at any other time. Only, right now, he could only think of how very nice that mouth would look wrapped around his dick. Maybe next time...

Then Italy wrenched his leg and broke his concentration completely. "Huuufff, Germans are too heavy," he complained. "How am I supposed to do this, Prussia?"

"Err..." That was actually a bit further than he had considered, but damn it all, he was pretty flexible! Also, he really, really wanted to see West go all googly-eyed at his awesomeness! "Improvise?"

Besides, how else was he going to convince his stiff (hurr, strange how everything made him think about West and dicks right now... okay, maybe not so strange) little brother to fuck face to face when it became his turn to top?

Italy tried to lift Prussia up enough for West to fit his knees beneath his ass, but it was awkward and he kept sliding down again. That Italy had managed to get oil pretty much all over them didn't exactly help.

"Stick a leg beneath my arm," Germany finally suggested, and angled his elbow as much as the cuffs allowed. "There, yeah, and then..."

Bending forward, Prussia used his considerable upper-body strength to heave, while West stood up on his knees, crept closer. Finally, he had leverage to _pull_ with his trapped leg and that seemed to do the trick. Because suddenly, somehow, his brother was looming over him, all wide-eyed and blushing, while Prussia was bent like a pretzel and-

Without a word, Italy's hand slipped in between them and grabbed Germany's cock. He looked at the pair of them, frozen in nervous anticipation, nodded to himself. One firm pull at Prussia's shoulder and then, as simply as if it was always meant to be like this, he helped Germany's cock in place, the tip resting against the hidden opening.

"Go ahead," he whispered into Germany's ear since Germany seemed to have forgotten how to breathe, never mind move. "Push a little, ve?"

"Yes," Prussia said, voice betraying all the vulnerability that his hungry face hid, "yes, West, please..."

That did it. Clenching his arm around Prussia's leg and steeling his features into that familiar, determined face, Germany pushed into him, entering slowly but surely. Every centimetre he moved, the harsh look melted away a little more.   
It was transforming into something so primal, so hungry, that Italy thought maybe it was a good thing Germany hadn't managed to convince him into bed the first time he asked. Because he might just have eaten weak little Italy up in battle-crazed lust.

All the while, Italy was stroking himself off with abandon, barely knowing where to rest his eyes. After all, his Germans looked so, so lovely, everywhere!  
Prussia, his face wide open and defenceless. The red eyes had half rolled back and his mouth was working soundlessly as his brother filled him, took him after so many years. In perfect contrast was Germany, gritting his teeth and so clearly fighting for control. Even so, while he was shaking with barely held-back need, his ice-blue eyes gleamed in triumphant desire.

" _My_ brother," Germany growled, defining things and subtly, eternally, changing things between them. Just after that, Italy saw how they both stilled, Germany having gone as deep as he could.

Licking his lips, the smaller nation bent closer to peek at where they joined, but just then Prussia snaked his other leg around Germany's waist and almost completely blocked the view.

Before Italy could pout or complain, though, Germany turned those fierce blue eyes on him and all traces of sanity left Italy. Eaten up, split apart - Who cared when you could have Germany look at you with such naked lust?

"I'll help you move," Italy said, his voice unusually husky and soft.

Nodding, Germany rocked back a little. That made him remember just what he had promised to do to Germany and oh dear, Italy, don't faint now...

Ohhh, but how thrilling was it to be the strong one, for once? The one who could decide that, while he didn't mind helping Prussia lie still beneath Germany's carefully controlled movements, he could do much more if he wanted. And he did, he wanted so much he thought he might burst! Carefully, Italy let his other hand move back to play with Germany's hole, prepare and open him. Make him ready for Italy, let him feel for the first time what it was like to have another nation enter him. Not in conquest or to hurt, but to love, love, love and want; how he'd enjoy teaching Germany to share this want, so they could enjoy each other as equals.

More oil on him, quickly now, for the brothers were moving faster and surer. Prussia was panting wildly again, eyes all scrunched up in pleasure and his gasps turning increasingly into fierce oaths.

Germany was more silent and kept his eyes wide open, drinking in the sight of his brother's pleasure, but he too was growing more and more flushed. The face that Italy had once found so forbidden, boringly strict, was almost glowing with emotions now. Passionate, almost dangerously powerful... but after all these years, Italy knew his dearest friend too well to fear him. And there had never been less intent to hurt in Germany than now.   
He adored him, loved his strength and reliability, loved everything about him. Including, Italy thought with a breathless giggle, those utterly adorable little whines that escaped him now and then, like when Prussia tightened his internal muscles, or Italy's finger brushed onto that special secret place.

His Germany. At last, his, and he had never needed him more than now.

Four fingers, Italy finally decided, were more than enough. It was so easy, now to slide behind Germany, grab two pillows to give him some height and kneel on them between the open, welcoming, legs.

Then, because he really wanted to make this first time as good as possible and so not-at-all conquery as possible, Italy gently opened Germany and, resting his impatient cock against the opening, asked for permission one last time.

The 'yes' that exploded out of Germany had nothing to do with duty, or bravery, and everything to do with pure desire. It was _exactly_ what Italy had longed to hear.

"Veee, Germany, Germany," he almost sobbed as the firm flesh closed around his sex, "love you, oh, love you so much!"

Before him, around him - oh, he was going to just die from pleasure! - Germany shuddered and replied in a half-choked voice.

Italy tried to give him time, despite the overwhelming desire to move. He wanted his lover to have all the time in the world to get used to his presence this close, knowing it could, despite everything, feel too invasive.   
And at first, it seemed as if it might be too much for Germany. He went so still, his entire body tensing up in a bad way.   
But beneath him, hidden from Italy's view, Prussia moved; encouraging, demanding, wanting Germany to move so desperately that the need seemed to blend over into the hesitant nation. And, finally, Italy could feel the tension melt out of him as pleasure outgrew his fears. Carefully, Germany rocked back, taking Italy even further inside himself. It was as if a dam had burst open, the way almost screamed out Italy's name, the way he shuddered and then... Beautiful, Italy thought dizzily, how Germany's body was opening so wonderfully, how he could give himself over so completely once his trust was ensured. And now, Italy knew, he did not have to hesitate any longer. Stroking his handsome lover, so sweet beneath all his sternness, he carefully began to thrust.

Italy embraced Germany, reaching down with a hand to grope around until he reached Prussia's dick, only resting a hand on him for now, as he began to move properly.

Germany felt caught between the fires of hell, only their flames burned him with pleasure and mad desire rather than pain. Italy pushed into him, spreading him wide open and making him mad with the sheer sensation of it all. And then, just before drawing back, he'd hug him tighter, all those innocent hugs over the years taking on a new, mature context. Finally he'd withdraw for a while, moving back until he almost slipped out and only the very end of his sex rested in Germany, teasing and promising so much.

It was too much, too great a lack, but just before Germany had to beg him to come back, fill him utterly and please please love him even deeper, Italy seemed to sense it. He pushed back in, his small body somehow managing to envelope Germany, promise him protection from everything cold and cruel that had ever plagued him. And all the while, half-formed Italian words fell from his lips, so many sweet caresses in Germany's ears, that he felt as if he might break under the weight of their love.

And Prussia, oh, his brother was a most divine sin. Angel-fair skin stained with two red spots of excitement and the rough mouth turned so invitingly soft that Germany ached to kiss it. He called for him. Without saying it out loud, Prussia's face, his eyes, every fraction of his body seemed to beg for Germany to take him, over and over again.

Italy's hand was there too, just in his line of vision as Italy handled Prussia's erection. The knowledge that such a slim hand could cause them both such pleasure and make them loose all control... His Italy, sunlight come alive, playing with Prussia's achingly hard sex; an image Germany had silently dreamt and feared these last uncertain weeks, only now completely realizing how right the image was. A perfect balance, and far too gorgeous to sully with petty jealousy.

But too, there were the simply physical feelings that his lovers caused in him. A tempest of pleasure, tearing at his mind and need for order, the fact that seeing Prussia's cock so hard beneath him, feeling Italy splitting him further open with each thrust and feeling that amazing goddamn heat around his own dick! Fuck but he _wanted_ ; for everything to last forever; the freedom to come, right now. They were all burning up instead, too much, too sweet, utterly mad and Germany needed to take in even more and try to push even deeper and godfuckingdamn, he wanted them both so much.

They moved together in an uncannily pleasurable rhythm, Italy's words stuttering and halting more and more often, though his kept a firm pace, forcing the two Germans together with sweet relentlessness.

Soon, the first tears of pleasure escaped Prussia. While his breath hitched and he fought to give voice to the overwhelming sensation swelling inside, he stopped trying to control the pace or pull Germany closer. Opening up beneath him, Prussia simply accepted every movement, completely defeated by pleasure. His tears and shouts mingled, a rough counterpoint to Italy's sweet babble.

The sight was almost the last drop; Germany too felt himself unravelling and knew he wouldn't be able to last very much longer at all.

"It- Italy, Italy," he groaned, trying to tighten his own muscles, trying to keep the smaller nation there, inside, desperately needing to hold the moment a little longer, "Italy, love you, love you, love- Ahhn!"

"Yes," Italy cried, "yes!"

His hand clawed at Germany's firm stomach, fingers digging into the skin as Italy let go of all restraint. Abandoning any thought, he slammed into Germany until the trapped nation felt about to be split in two, broken open by pleasure.   
Then Prussia arched backwards, eyes open wide but blind to everything except his own climax, as he came with a howl.

That sight, the feeling of him tightening around his cock overwhelmed Germany utterly. Surrounded on all sides by his lovers, the sound and scent of their passion filling his senses became too much for him. The next time Italy pushed inside, filling him to bursting, Germany felt his mind split along with his body. He was struggling for breath, shuddering and trembling, coming as he'd never done before in his life.

Germany filled his lover, his brother with his seed. The instinctual shame turned into glorious pride at the knowledge that through his tears, Prussia was drinking in the sight of him lost in pleasure, his joy and love an almost physical thing to Germany's overwhelmed senses.

A heartbeat after that, Italy choked on his name, clawed at him in desperation as he too came, moaning and babbling wildly. Dearest, beautiful Italy, whom he had loved for an uncountable amount of years... who had finally conquered him, for all time.

"Lovnhhg, ah, love you, love!" Italy groaned and then simply held on to Germany as he shuddered and fell into the depths of pleasure.

Italy was shaking with the aftershock of an orgasm more intense than any he may ever have felt. When it at last began to wind down, he simply let his head fall forward and more or less slid out of consciousness, resting against Germany's broad back. His dearest strength and steady support, in all times good and bad. His beloved.

Italy was not alone in going limp, for Germany too felt completely wrung dry. Once Italy stilled against him, he allowed himself to collapse on top of Prussia, a grateful huff escaping.

Although he felt a small moment of loss when his softened cock slipped out, and Prussia's leg, or pelvis-bone or whatever it was, felt a bit uncomfortable, this position meant Germany could finally stretch out his legs.   
Though Italy mumbled something in protest, he obliged by moving his own legs out of the way, at the same time crawling up on Germany even further. Inhaling the oddly pleasant mixture of maleness, sweat and that olive oil (cooking, he realized, would never be the same) Germany nuzzled the still quavering skin of Prussia's throat. Oh yes, this was very pleasant. In fact, Germany thought sleepily, he could easily get addicted to this whole making love thing.

As if offended by his sentimental drivel, reality chose that moment to remind Germany just who his partners were. Perfect bliss was, after all, likely to be in short supply around them.

Prussia began squirming beneath him. Giving a strange yelp, he managed to kick Italy awake, causing a startled 'Ve!' to interrupt on Germany's pleasant half-doze.

"Aww, shit! West, move you- Argh!"

"Brother?" Germany asked and blearily lifted his head. "Everything okay?"

"No," Prussia said and grimaced, "it's bloody not!"

An icy fear stabbed Germany - those tears! He thought they meant- But what if, what if he had somehow hurt Prussia? A shudder worked through him at the thought that the most perfect moment in his existence so far, might have caused pain to someone in his family.

"What happened? I haven't hurt you?" Germany asked when Prussia only continued to cuss and wriggle, unable to free himself. He tried to rise up, but this proved a most difficult task with Italy a limp weight on him, his brother's legs still locked around his middle and those bloody French handcuffs trapping his arms.

"Didn't hurt me," Prussia sneered. "But you fat-asses are lying on me and I've got a damned cramp in my LEG and- Ow! My bloody arm too because someone clobbered me with a fucking chair earlier and _would you get off me now_!"

"Don't worry, Prussia," Italy mumbled. He yawned and slithered off Germany. "You know, we love you too."

That was such a non sequitur that Germany almost wondered if his hearing had broken from pleasure-overload. Wondered, until he realized that Prussia's bitching had stopped completely.

"Oh," Germany said, probably sounding stunningly intelligent. Was Prussia actually blushing?

"Oh!" Yep, that rang even brighter the second time.

Calmer now, Germany managed to work himself free. Exhausted as he was, he still managed to lean down and give his infuriating, and altogether quite awesome, older brother a soft kiss on the tip of his nose. Then he allowed Italy to pull him close, leaning on the smaller nation and taking a few heartbeats to marvel at the lucky fate that had placed him in this situation, with these particular nations for company.

"Yes, brother," he said and smiled, trying to share the mellow happiness that sloshed through his veins and drowned all sense of propriety.

In this moment, with Italy beside him and Prussia watching through warily hopeful eyes, it became so easy to say words that had only rarely escaped him before.

"Love you, too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, concrit and random thoughts are all equally welcome!


End file.
